


Amalgamation

by Maunakea



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Decepticons being Decepticons, Dominance, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinky Situations, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Possible Triggery Content, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Ending, Slavery, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 180,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maunakea/pseuds/Maunakea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime runs afoul of the slave coding and horrible things occur. Megatron is thrilled. So very thrilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Things Happened

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the excellent story [ “Down A Notch…Or Eight” ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/154824/chapters/222628) by Ladydragon76, I was inspired by the slave code kink meme and decided to try and explore what would happen if Prime was the unlucky one.
> 
> Then I had to make up a whole universe where what I wanted to happen could actually happen while trying to stay somewhat in character and thus, the opening plot chapter. Please let me know in the comments how badly I have mangled them, I love feedback. :D
> 
> Optimus Prime and Megatron are in their Stormbringer forms in this universe, which is a mix mash of IDW and G1.
> 
> NOTE: First chapter is just a prelude to explain the backstory a little, as to why things are so damned dreadful. Smut in later chapters. I am not much of an author and this is my first fan fiction, but I got bit by this bug thing pretty hard so here we go.
> 
> Warnings: Non-con and lots of it, in all flavors. Seriously. Galvatron being a crazy freak, Megatron is a bastard, Prime gets hurt a lot. Hurt/comfort, torture, slave coding, sticky all over the walls etc. Sad ending. If not your thing, RUN AWAY.

Everything had gone wrong from the start.

The Cybertronian factions had barely finished cobbling together a victory against Unicron when the Quintesson slave ships arrived. Hardened Cybertronian warriors they all were, and they rallied together to face the new threat. After a long and furious struggle they freed themselves from Quintesson bondage. But the fires of that raging nightmare battle hadn't even died down when the final attack that ended the Cybertronian Menace for good descended from the skies.

By name: the Galactic Council (with aid from the Black Block Consortium). Tired of the endless invasions, wars, and death, they had watched and waited for their opportunity and immediately descended on the Cybertronian survivors at their weakest moment.

The Great War had whittled the Cybertronian race down to the hundreds of thousands, and the Quintesson Occupation had plunged them into the thousands.

The journey in the Galactic Council’s prison ships to an unnamed world in the distant galactic rim reduced them to mere hundreds. The Galactic Council’s wardens had been too terrified to approach the dismal cells, and the captive mechs went without fuel for the entire journey, a relatively short time span of a few weeks.

Autobot, Decepticon, Predacon, and Unicronian forces found themselves dumped randomly and without forethought into alien holding cells. As they began starving the results were predictable for the poor mechs who found themselves outnumbered in their small cells by enemy faction members.

Outnumbered by Decepticon, Unicronian, or especially Predacon faction members, anyway.

By the time they reached their destination, no one was in any shape to do much of anything. After being dumped unceremoniously onto alien ground in one giant wretched mass of starving machinery, the galactic ships abandon them without delay. At first there seemed little other to do than to sit in huddled masses and wait for the end.

That is, until the discovery that the pools and streams of viscous fluid all around them were in fact a form of basic proto-fuel. The crowd of bodies separated out by friend and faction into a dangerously fractured sprawling mob, they drank, they gathered some strength, and then of course they fought. When they were finally able to wrench free of each other and stagger off into separate directions, they were down to less than a hundred individuals combined.

Megatron took his faction south, following the largest streams of proto-fuel in search of shelter, after beating the ever-loving spark out of Starscream for trying to sneak off on his own.

Razorclaw broke off with his Predacon pack and dogged after Megatron, determined to make his former leader’s life as miserable as possible.

Prime gathered up his Autobots and intended to head north, wishing to get as far away from Megatron’s faction as was physically possible.

Galvatron surveyed all that was around him. Hands on his hips, he pronounced himself Emperor of the Universe.

Convinced of his own divine superiority, Galvatron watched as the Autobots started gathering up their dead and injured members for the long journey north, and ordered Cyclonus and the Sweeps to work.

The Autobots made the mistake of re-engaging the Unicronians when said faction began to drag the Autobot dead away with them. They lost half of their surviving forces in that battle, although they managed to drive the Unicronians into retreat.

The Unicronians limped away with mostly Decepticon dead in tow, and then days later attacked the Autobots again, showing up with far more Sweeps then they had started with. Prime’s forces were completely overwhelmed, and Galvatron’s interest in the dead became crystal clear.

The surviving handful of Autobots scattered down into cave systems below the surface with the Sweeps in hot pursuit, while Prime and Ratchet were taken captive by the triumphant Unicronians.


	2. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Optimus Prime and Ratchet flee for their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story actually begins... mentions of torture.

 

The greenish sky was overcast when Optimus Prime and Ratchet finally reached the edge of the deep trench. Neither could transform due to injury, and the frantic journey by foot had tasked them to their limits.

Optimus sank to his knees upon the fine, dark sand. His vents were audible as his engine slowly cycled down. His face plate was missing with the hinges torn, and he kept his intakes open, pulling in as much air as possible for his over-heating ventilation system,

His servos lowered reflexively down to his interface cover for a moment. Hovering over it, his fingers clenched and unclenched anxiously, but then he jerked them away to rest on his thighs. A moment later he pulled them back up and settled on wrapping his arms around himself instead.

Ratchet looked no better. Also showing signs of deep discomfort, he leaned against one of the dark slabs of rock that jutted upwards from the ground in ragged, broken pillars. He coughed to clear his vocalizer of the gritty air irritating his intakes.

“Optimus," Ratchet said, "I know this area is unstable and prone to cave in, but we have to get underground. We need to risk it.”

Ratchet watched as Optimus turned his head slowly to regard him. His spark quailed at the pain and exhaustion in his friend’s dim blue optics. He softened his tone.

“I would rather risk the elements then be recaptured, which will surely happen if we stay out here. We can’t afford to run into the Unicronians while you still have the coding, dormant or not.”

“I know, old friend. Just ... give me a breem.”

Optimus rested for a moment and continued to ventilate shakily. He was a battered wreck, covered from helm to pedes with injuries. His paint was dull and peeling and his energy levels were dreadfully low. The Unicronians had rarely provided fuel during their captivity, and both mechs were running on fumes now.

They had stopped at a small oily stream an hour back, a crude natural oil leak that was very common in the area. Both had gulped down the yellowish proto-fuel frantically, filling their tanks to the brim, but the internal conversion to a very weak, usable energon took time. Due to their poor condition, this meant they had to stop and rest frequently as internal repairs sucked much of that slow energy away.

Ratchet watched as Optimus tried to cool his overtaxed systems, rubbing miserably at his plating, and the old medic’s head dipped in sympathy. They had tried to force the coding to accept Ratchet as his friend’s master, simply to make sure the Unicronians couldn’t claim him that way again. But for some reason the coding stayed dormant, no matter how commanding Ratchet tried to sound. Neither understood what the problem was, but fear of recapture kept them moving, driving them to their limits.

Galvatron had not been fit to own a drone, much less a sentient being. Days in captivity had turned to weeks. Ratchet, trapped in the enemy’s crude medical area, was forced to tend minor injuries presented to him by the Sweeps while listening to Prime’s near endless cries of pain from Galvatron’s dingy quarters.

The ancient warlord was truly mad. Somehow, Optimus had managed to overcome the slave coding long enough to offline his Unicronian master. It was a feat unheard of.

“You have to tell me how you managed to kill him,” Ratchet murmured to his quiet, trembling companion. “I thought us both lost.”

The sight of Optimus Prime, maniac, tearing through a mob of sweeps to burst through the medbay entrance played behind his optics. Between the thick pipe Optimus had used as a makeshift weapon and Ratchet’s wrench, they had broken out in a mad dash for freedom as the Sweeps panicked around their fallen leader. Cyclonus had been patrolling outside of the disaster the Unicronians insisted on calling a base at the time, or they would have never made it out at all.

“I fear it has cost me,” Optimus whispered, touching his helm gingerly. “The coding is quiet now, but the pain barely diminishes. The need for,” he hesitated at the thought of naming it and then continued, “The need for him is gone, but the pain remains. It is… hard to think.” He thoughtlessly reached for his panel again. Of all his endless injuries, his interface array was bothering him the most, and for good reason.

“Don’t!” Ratchet said, and though his optics were soft, his voice was sharp and commanding. “Just don’t.”

Optimus flinched, but he obeyed his medic and his hands slid away. They have already had this discussion several times and he always emerged the loser. He closed his optics and swallowed against a rising sense of nausea, momentarily overcome by painful memory...

 

... _dragging himself to his feet as ordered, another blow sent him crashing to the ground. He was being beaten within an inch of his life, and there was nothing he could do about it._

_Galvatron had jacked into his systems and initiated a form of punishment from ancient times. It was a type of coding originally only used for defeated enemies, mechs that were too weak to be killed on the battlefield with honor. Galvatron berated him between blows for being so weak as to force him to use such an honorless method of punishment._

_Optimus dragged himself to his knees as Galvatron paused in his brutal assault to carefully explain that as a member of the lower castes and an Autobot, Optimus was part of a lesser race of Cybertronian and couldn't be expected to behave like a proper warrior. Optimus stared up at his tormentor in disbelief as Galvatron graciously pardoned him - for of course he cannot help his so-called weak nature - but then the assault began anew._

_Galvatron started with his fists, but grew more malicious as time passed._

_Each attack grew ever more violent, more senseless. Nothing Optimus said seemed to sink in. He was forced to listen as Galvatron ranted and ranted. Sometimes he would make twisted sense, but more often than not he simply_ _seemed to be enjoying the sound of his own voice. His captive audience became an obsession that he could not put aside._

_Cyclonus looked on with concern for his leader even as Prime struggled to endure. He tried to understand what his Lord sought from these interactions, but the longer Galvatron interacted with his helpless captive the worse he became..._

 

"Optimus," Ratchet called softly, and the concern in his voice coaxed Optimus from his dark memories. 

Dignity had been so scarce lately that Ratchet watched Optimus settle on listlessly scratching at the filth coating his lower body without even considering averting his eyes. The itchy offensiveness flaked away only grudgingly.

Neither he nor Optimus could think of the other Autobots. With so many friends lost, so many to grieve for, it was a pain too heavy to approach. Right now all they could do was focus on taking care of each other.

Ratchet sighed, and his shoulders sagged with relief. Soon they would be able to relax, clean themselves, and get back to some semblance of normalcy. All they wanted out of life right now was a dark, quiet place to huddle into together and rest, electromagnetic fields intertwined.

Ratchet reached out and clasped Optimus’ shoulder gently, mindful of the burns and cuts but still wanting to offer some comfort to his old companion. His stronger EM field brushed Optimus’ weak one, a steadying presence against the flickering other. Prime’s fields calmed a bit for that gentle touch.

“As soon as we get somewhere safe I will tend to you,” Ratchet promised again as he gestured at Optimus’ panel. “I have to do a full scan first; the lining could be punctured or worse. You could bleed out. We have to wait. Do you think you could handle a hardline connection? It would be faster than waiting for my energy levels to be high enough for an energy scan. I know it is more invasive, but-”

“For you, yes.” Optimus almost smiled as he interrupted his old friend, touched for the concern.

But Ratchet could tell that he was at the end of his strength, mentally and physically. He longed to pull Optimus down and begin repairing him, to bring him back to some sense of comfort and sanity, but they couldn’t spare the time. Not with the Unicronians surely in pursuit.

“We should keep moving,” Ratchet reminded him quietly.

But both were so reluctant to move that it was another few wheezy breaths before they stood up on weak and shaking legs and started looking for a way down into the trench. The deep cracks had only just started, and they were too narrow to easily fit into.

All that remained of the Autobot faction was somewhere beneath their pedes, hidden in the depths. Optimus started picking his way along a promising crack, but Ratchet pulled up short. He tilted his helm, something in the distance catching his attention.

“Optimus, I hear Sweeps! I think we’ve been found!”

“Get into the crevasse, hurry! We’ll have the advantage if they can’t stay in the sky.”

Ratchet started forward and Optimus turned to face the incoming menace, even as he, too, retreated for the crack.

“Optimus, it’s too small for you to pass through! It doesn’t widen for a long way!” and now Ratchet sounded panicked. The coding was dormant, but could come back online at any time, imprinting on the next commanding presence Optimus encountered.

The energetic rumbling of the approaching mechs grew louder. Due to the overcast sky and thick gloom, it was almost too late when Optimus realized it wasn't the Unicronians who'd found them. Things were _much_ worse. He caught sight of a flash of blue and purple and silver, sleek winged bodies, and the vibrant sound of seeker flight engines.

“Decepticons! Ratchet, move!” Prime whirled around to sprint towards the crevasse. He was thrown to the ground an instant later when a heavy silver body rammed into him from above.

“Optimus Prime!” Megatron’s cheerful voice boomed in greeting. “It’s been so long since we have laid optics upon each other, my old enemy.” Megatron stood only a few body lengths away from him, hands out and palms facing upward in a dramatic pose.

Megatron always loved a grand entrance. Grinning, he watched Optimus collect himself, then gestured sharply to his landing soldiers. “Bring me the medic, unharmed! I will deal with Prime.”

A moment later Optimus was back on his feet and leaping toward the crevasse. He shoved Thundercracker to the side and knocked Ratchet down into the fissure in the same motion. It was too narrow for his large frame to fit through, but with a horrified cry for Optimus, Ratchet slid down to momentary safety.

Optimus could hear Ratchet calling for him in a panic, and he bellowed at the top of his vocalizer for his friend to run. Satisfied that Ratchet may yet escape, he turned and charged at Megatron.

 _Further distraction can only help Ratchet ..._  and the thought was heartening (in a way only someone with a deep abiding need for self-sacrifice would truly understand) and he threw everything he had into that charge, even as the rest of the Decepticons landed all around him. The enthusiastic look on Megatron’s face as he braced for the impact guttered Optimus’ spark.

Megatron looked strong, vibrant, and well fueled. His silver paint was scraped a bit, but there was a gleam of smooth oil across his clean plating and the rest he'd been enjoying for the last few weeks clearly agreed with him. His evident good health was entirely unfair for what their race had endured these past years (then again, the Decepticons did have the advantage of being willing to abandon or scavenge their dead).

 _This isn't going to end well,_ Optimus realized. He knew he was in no condition for a fight, but there was no other option.

Slamming into his erstwhile opponent, the momentum Optimus brought with him knocked Megatron back. Dropped into a fighting stance, he answered Megatron’s greeting with his fists. His old enemy took the first hit happily. Rising to the challenge, Megatron smashed back and was clearly eager to pit himself against the Prime again.

Optimus barely held his ground under the punishing blows. He threw his full weight into his next punch, not holding anything back. Megatron appeared to enjoy engaging in battle with him, savoring each back and forth blow. They were exiled on this wretched world for the rest of their natural lives and simple pleasures were now impossible to come by. But Megatron couldn’t have looked any happier as he snapped threat after grandiose threat.

Two more seekers darted past Optimus as he kicked out at Megatron’s pedes, trying to unbalance him. Acid Storm and Skywarp transformed and landed in one graceful motion and then raced along the crack, looking for a spot wide enough to dive into before Ratchet fell too far to reach.

“Don’t you dare lose that medic!” Megatron roared over his shoulder as he blocked the incoming kick, then enthusiastically head-butted Optimus in return.

Optimus staggered back as his optics went white, and then threw himself back towards Megatron.

They grappled, and the powerful grip of the other felt instantly familiar. They had pitted their bodies against each other so many times in the past that this combative embrace was almost instinctual. Electromagnetic fields - tucked as closely against plating as possible to avoid giving the enemy any useful advantage - finally mingle as both mechs strain against each other.

Optimus kept his optics focused on the space in between Megatron’s eyes, avoiding his direct gaze. He already knew how this fight was going to end and wasn't looking forward to the grandstanding speech Megatron would surely be giving before the final death blow.

But as soon as the electromagnetic field of his adversary washed over him, Megatron finally seemed to notice the terrible condition of his opponent. He looked Optimus over, taking in the tired set of his optics to the dreadful state of his frame as if really seeing him for the first time. Optimus flinched as powerful and confident fields suddenly expanded out, openly tasting his utter exhaustion. His gaze dropped to the purple symbol on Megatron’s thick chest armor and he knew Megatron would use his condition against him with no quarter given. Oh, how well he knew this enemy.

Megatron’s lips curved slightly upward, exposing sharp denta as Prime began to slide backwards in the silt under the force of his grip, unable to keep from giving ground.

“You seem unwell, Prime.” Megatron spoke if they were in the midst of a pleasant conversation instead of aggressively pummeling each other into scrap. He studied his adversary with predatory interest. “Look at me,” he commanded, disliking when his opponents refused to make eye contact.

Optimus Prime jerked his helm up in sudden horror.

_Oh Primus no._

The tiny symbol in his internal display blinked once, and suddenly the coding roared back into his mind. His optics flickered in a very specific way as he tore himself loose, and Megatron, now stunned, fell back with a surprised expression that quickly morphed into something curious, something contemplative.

Suddenly recognizing the ancient slave coding system and that something very delightful had just occurred, Megatron started laughing.

“Prime!” His tone grew suddenly harsh, demanding, a firm command. “Come here.”

Optimus' intakes choked, but he stumbled several unwilling steps forward even as Megatron flashed him a wicked grin and lashed out with his fist. He delivered a sharp blow to his opponent's blue helm and, still laughing, caught his old enemy as he dropped unconscious to the ground.

Megatron gathered his rival up into his arms. “What a wonderful development,” he murmured to himself, lip plating curling upward to expose sharp denta. He adjusted Optimus in his arms and squeezed the limp body against him.

Remembering himself, Megatron briskly ordered Starscream to take Acid Storm and Thrust and follow the trenches “-you find that damned medic or so help me I will-” and then ordered the rest of his scouting party homeward.

Down below, in a space almost too small to move through, sorrowful optics watched as the Decepticons and their captive faded into the dismal evening sky.

 


	3. Recaptured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron takes his new toy home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of sexual torture.

 

_The brutal attacks continued._

_Within days of initial capture and encoding, the assaults grew twisted. The coding Galvatron forced on Prime required certain interactions, but Galvatron was simply incapable of providing anything the coding would recognize as appropriate.  
_

_Galvatron instead used whatever objects he found to replace the function his own metal should preform; the parts of him which he could not bring himself to use to satisfy his lust. For his own twisted mental processes, t_ _aking such a low-born slave had been a mistake.  
_

_The situation grew desperate._

_Prime was starving as Galvatron refused to feed him and the coding became unbearable as base needs remained unfulfilled. Galvatron could do nothing but withhold, berate, and injure. The coding interpreted the negativity from a master as failure to serve. It mentally lashed Prime to the point of utter hopelessness._

_Red eyes gleamed mad with lust, but the prejudiced Unicronian simply couldn't lower himself to take his captive._

_Cyclonus watched the proceedings dispassionately. He couldn’t care less for Prime’s misery. Only concerned for his Lord’s mental functions, he watched as with alarm as Galvatron began rapidly deteriorating into an unmanageable state._

_"Kill me," Optimus demanded, snarling up at his tormentor. "You wouldn't do this to a beast."_

 

... Optimus awoke to the sounds and sensations of rushing air.

Unable to move, Optimus realized his hands were tied behind his back with ratty but functional stasis cuffs. He was also high off the ground and dangling beneath the powerful mech carrying him. Tightly clenched arms were wrapped around his midsection, and he immediately recognized them as Megatron’s. He took care not to squirm, not wanting to alert his captor that he was awake. He stayed quiet while trying to ascertain his situation.

Keeping his optics closed, he took stock of his body… and wasn't happy.

Internal alerts aplenty and he still hurt everywhere. His protoform beneath his armor felt like bruised mush, and freezing cold seeped into his internals as his body struggled to control his temperature. His mind and thoughts were slow with pain. His delicate components beneath his interface panel continued to throb in endless protest, and all of his circuits ached powerfully. The coding whispered lurid things about the warbuild above him and his energy levels remained desperately low.

The fight had forced him to churn through what converted fuel had remained in his tanks. He would not be able to defend himself until he rested for at least a full night, giving his fuel tanks time to convert more energon.

Opening his eyes barely a sliver only confirmed that he was airborne.

He could see the other Decepticons flying in formation to the right and left of him, though he didn't dare turn his head to identify them. Looking down, the view up here remained as dismal as the one on the ground.

The ground far below was streaked with patches of gray and black sand and grit, with darker gray rocks scattered here and there. Breaking up the monotony were tiny streams of proto-fuel that cover the ground in twisting fingers, collecting in small pools and ponds. Fuel may be plentiful, but their new home world in exile lacked any sort of grace or beauty.

No life ever evolved here.

Watching the ground racing by far below, Optimus realized that if he fell from this height, he wouldn't survive. He couldn't help but wonder if that might be mercy. Captivity under Galvatron had been simply unbearable, but in the end he was nothing more than a mentally sick, unimaginative bully. Megatron was an intellectual and loved dominance games. He was also mentally stable and had no issues with forcing humiliation interfacing on defeated opponents.

Death may be preferable to what comes next.

But then he remembered Ratchet calling for him, and rejected the easy way out. _They would probably catch me before I hit the ground anyway. I still have someone to protect._ _Ratchet needs me. Maybe some of the others are still alive..._ though in his spark he doubted it.

 _I must find some way to escape..._ and the thought barely crossed his mind when the coding stabbed him with a sudden surge of pain. It reminded him of its active presence and helpfully pointed out that trying to escape was not something a slave did.

Prime mentally shrugged it off, ignoring the pain. The wretched coding could hurt him all it liked, but it couldn’t control his thoughts directly. Its near constant lashing of him has grown counterproductive as well, for he was beginning to grow accustomed to the mental pain, and more often than not simply forced his way through it.

He in-vented deeply, trying to calm the deep sense of dread that had found a home in his weary spark. Then friendly-sounding chatter finally registered through his dismay and the rush of biting cold wind.

“Slave coding? How is that possible? I didn’t think anyone still had it?” Thundercracker sounded disturbed, and rightfully so.

This added an unpleasant new dynamic to their three-faction war. (Four factions, counting Razorclaw’s rogue Predacon pack. The Decepticons didn’t though, as Razorclaw was one of them. Eventually he would be brought back kicking and screaming to the fold. He just hadn’t been fool enough to run afoul of the roving seeker patrols yet).

“It makes sense,” someone else argued. “We know the Unicronians have no qualms regarding slavery. And Galvatron is ancient. He may have a copy of the code from before the Golden Age ended.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Skywarp asked. “And can I watch?”

Megatron considered the question for a moment. “Hm. I will think of something.” The undertone seemed menacing and Optimus could feel his enemy’s arms tighten possessively around him.

The coding noted how nice and powerful the master’s fields felt, and Optimus shrugged off that invading thought too. He had also been forced by the code to admire Galvatron’s shapely form in the midst of one of his more vicious sustained sexual assaults. Needless to say, its attempts to make him mentally accept his slavery were failing, hard.

He could feel Megatron’s fields though. The flavor of the electromagnetic field above him tasted of amusement. Perhaps even a touch of glee. Megatron was carrying him back to the wrecked starship the Decepticons were using for a base as a slave, and he was certain Megatron couldn’t have been more thrilled about it. He visibly flinched as the slave coding tried to assure him this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“Hey, I think he’s awake,” said Skywarp.

_Slag._

Optimus felt Megatron adjust his grip, and then suddenly he was flipped in mid-air. A small gasp and he was being carried bridal style, looking up into glowing red optics, and his spark sank.

Megatron looked far too cheerful. “Ah, Prime. Welcome back to the land of the lucid! I take it you are not too uncomfortable?”

“Release me, Megatron," Optimus said, forcing himself to sound strong. "There is no point in remaining adversaries. The Autobots no longer intend to fight you. We wish only to be left in peace.”

“You mean you _can’t_ fight us anymore, don’t you?” Skywarp corrected him with a sneer.

Megatron frowned at the seeker, irritated at having someone other than himself trade barbs with his new acquisition. After a moment he answered Optimus as Skywarp retreated back behind his leader by a few paces.

“Answer the question, Prime. What is your status now? What are you to me?”

Optimus hissed aloud as the coding clamped down to make him obey. He ground his denta and said nothing, but it cost him. Pain lanced through him, making it hard to ventilate, but he refused to debase himself for Megatron’s petty amusement.

Megatron watched him with keen interest.

“I didn’t think you could fight slave coding,” Thundercracker said, a frown in his voice as he watched Optimus struggle against an internal monster. He would never admit it, but seeing others suffer was never something he enjoyed.

“It is a long process of grinding the mind down over time, eventually resulting in blind obedience,” Megatron explained. “A stronger mind can resist longer. Most break eventually or die. And no, before you ask, I do not agree with slavery or the keeping of slaves. I would remind you that I am not responsible for uploading this vile code into Prime,” he glanced pointedly at his captive, “but I will most certainly be taking advantage of this situation now that it has fallen into my servos.”

Thundercracker frowned at the contradictory answer but dipped his wing respectfully at his leader and then dropped back to match Skywarp’s position a short distance away.

Megatron’s personal business was none of his concern, and Thundercracker hadn’t survived as long as he had by pointlessly irritating the Decepticon Leader. Megatron was clearly delighted with this entire turn of events and would not be listening to reason any time in the immediate future. There was nothing Thundercracker could do right now, even though the thought of slave coding made him personally ill.

Megatron returned his attention to Optimus, and smiled mildly down at his injured captive. “No need to shuffle off the mortal coil too swiftly Prime, and consider that my first order to you, as your master. You may not kill yourself. Not without my permission.”

“I am not…” but Optimus cut off when he simply couldn’t finish the sentence for the pain.

“Apparently you are, Prime. I can tell by all that delightful wincing. Come now, there is no point in being a sore loser. It is beneath you. You have lost, haven’t you? Let me hear you say it.”

Optimus clamped his denta and said nothing, the code grinding furiously away in his mind.

“Really Prime, such a simple command from your master… your new leader. Do comply before you harm yourself.” Megatron sounded so smug. “Or rather, before I harm you.”

Finally Optimus gave in to the force bending his mind, recognizing the exchange was truly pointless. “I have lost,” he hissed out, hating to voice what Megatron wanted to hear.

“Lost what, Prime?”

“Your wretched war,” Optimus ground out.

“And what am I to you? Answer me.”

“You are my… my master.” The last part was choked out, and as much as Optimus hated the words, they were true. Then Megatron laughed, that deep, booming sound Optimus had heard echoing over battlefields most of his life.

But for all his threats, Megatron’s fields were thrumming with a surprisingly light amusement. Megatron's grip remained firm and controlled around Optimus and he held his battered, miserable new toy tightly against his chest plates. Unable to resist the temptation to tease, his dark fingers began to stroke the plating within reach as he grinned down at Optimus.

“See? Was that so difficult?”

Optimus struggled in irritation against the teasing fingers. The light touches were rather painful, though that was probably not what Megatron intended, given his current mood. Fondling touches Optimus would have normally ignored were now too irritating to disregard, which resulted in a lot of squirming. The Decepticons snickered at his reactions, and Megatron’s fields were most _definitely_ gleeful now.

Optimus felt anger rise up in him. It grew and grew the further Megatron took him from his Autobots, eclipsing the depression he'd been slowly sinking into over the last few years. He imagined kicking Megatron out of the air and in his mind’s eye he saw them both falling to their deaths. Instantly the coding kicked in, ramping the pain up several notches, and he had to shutter his optics.

Noisy whoops of laughter and cheerfulness erupted from the surrounding flyers as they darted and flitted through the dark skies, happy to be homeward bound.

The infernal stroking continued all throughout the flight as Megatron remained delighted with his feeble attempts to shake away the invasive fingers that kept tracing his interface panel.

Optimus' spark dropped into his chest at the thought of what Megatron was going to find there.

 _You sorry waste of metal,_ and Optimus glowered up at Megatron even as his anger spent itself and faded back into empty misery. _With all of our shared history, why couldn’t you be better than this?_

The coding punished Optimus even harder for his thoughts, and he found himself too tired to resist. He surrendered to the encroaching darkness and passed out again.

 


	4. Back into the Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron explains how things are going to go down. Optimus is not thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-Con, inappropriate touches.

Optimus awoke with a start when cast into a chair.

The impact, normally beneath notice, sent shooting pains up through his spark from his lower body, bringing him back to full awareness. The cords and cuffs came off as Megatron moved around him. He sagged a little as the sharp pain slowly ebbed back to a dull roar, and took in the foreboding change of scenery.

Overcast sky had melted into dark rusty metal.

It seemed they were now on the bridge of an old rusted skeleton that was once a spaceship, but not of Cybertronian design. The command deck was completely gutted. From the crude furnishings evident, Megatron had appropriated this area of the ship as his private quarters. There was a large berth welded to the wall against the far corner, tucked in a lower level enclave that probably used to be a science section. A small room opposite the berth had been walled off as a large shower.

The upper section was now a living area, with a desk and a small table with a few crude chairs. There looked to be a large cracked view screen, probably not functional, on the far wall. The room was rather cozy, though the surrounding metal was very, very old.

They were alone in Megatron’s personal quarters, and Megatron looked over his captive carefully, taking in the tattered plating, peeling paint, and fracture lines. What he was thinking, Optimus didn't know, and the moment stretched between them as Optimus returned Megatron’s contemplative gaze with a baleful glare.

It was Megatron who broke the silence, confident as ever. “I suppose we should start with a full debriefing then. Tell me how this happened to you, and who is responsible.”

Optimus obeyed to the minimum the coding would allow. He did indicate Galvatron was responsible and that he had managed to kill him under duress. Megatron listened thoughtfully, arms crossed in front of him, until he was finished.

“Well then,” Megatron said, “Firstly I must inform you that you are mistaken. Galvatron is not dead. In fact, we encountered him not hours ago. We avoided confrontation at the time as we were greatly outnumbered, but it did appear that he was searching for something.”

“That is impossible," Optimus snapped, disturbed to his core. "I tore his helm from his frame!”

“I saw him myself, Prime. His head was firmly attached to his body." Even while delivering news of Prime's failure, Megatron was still rather impressed for the vehemence displayed in those oh-so-tired eyes.

Optimus Prime tended towards restraint under normal circumstances. Although, from the look of him, it seemed Galvatron had enjoyed himself well to excess. The limits of his own control would need to be explored carefully, and the thought filled Megatron with anticipation as he added, "He did seem furious, though. He was beating the scrap out of Cyclonus for some reason.”

Optimus groaned, and rubbed his face plates with his hands. _Wonderful,_ he thought, disturbed and deeply frustrated. _Another impossible to kill adversary, just what I need._

Megatron gave him a moment, and then quietly invaded his personal space with intent.

Optimus looked up at him as Megatron stepped close enough to touch. Optimus' plating instinctively tucked a little closer to his aching protoform. Unease filled his spark as Megatron loomed over him, looking down from his position of great power. Red optics burned brightly, and Megatron's fields thrummed with predatory anticipation.

Slowly, Megatron reached out with a dark servo and brushed his fingers against Optimus’ sensitive audial. The touch was gentle, exploratory ... and Optimus jerked his helm back. His electromagnetic fields betrayed his alarm, just short of outright fear. Megatron met his concerned gaze and held it, the smallest trace of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.

“So,” Megatron clapped his hands together behind his back while starting his opening volley, “You and I both know what you need, and I intend to provide for your … base … needs no matter how difficult you make life for me. I am not an Autobot after all.”

Optimus rose for the bait.

“You know damned well that the Autobots under my command would never tolerate slavery," Optimus snapped, shouldering through the mental pain the coding punished him with. The insinuation otherwise was too infuriating not to challenge. "The slave coding died out a long time ago. I have never used another living being in this way, nor have any of my soldiers. Don’t pretend you are doing me any favors.” 

Megatron sighed down at him.

“Entirely beside the point. You have the coding and that is the reality we face today. No amount of useless struggling will change that. We are stuck with each other. You should know that I do not have medical staff capable of removing the slave coding, or I would order it removed from you.”

“You lie, Megatron.” Optimus rumbled bitterly, fighting through the pain that defiance against his new master caused him. “You would never free me-” A black fist slammed into his face and sent him falling out of his chair before he could finish his sentence. He rolled over and struggled to his feet as Megatron snarled furiously at him.

“Don’t insult me! Ending slavery on Cybertron was one of the reasons I founded the Decepticons in the first place,” and Megatron began to pace back and forth in front of his captive, gesturing with his servos as he spoke, fingers black and pitted with damage from eons of war. "One of the many deprivations inflicted on the common mech by Autobot oppressors. It was I, not you, who brought those miseries to an end."

Now Megatron was frowning.

There was a little voice inside his helm whispering unease, even as his words were very true. Code slavery was originally created and implemented by ancient Autobots and was a vile practice by any standards. In the beginning of the Great War, he had given countless speeches and pledges to his Decepticons and ending code slavery was one of the promises he had made. One of the main tenets of Decepticon ideology was the concept that Cybertronians should be free to fight for their own destiny; free to choose and change their shapes and occupations as they pleased.

Megatron had kept his promises, for the most part. The vile senate was dead, code slavery was almost unheard of, and the (few surviving) Cybertronians were no longer bound to functionalist restrictions. But those promises and speeches were far, far away, existing as distant echos from the past. Now, eons later, his faction only rarely questioned his decisions and actions, making the flimsiest justifications easy for him.

What Galvatron had dropped into his lap was too delightful to process; Optimus Prime was his, body and spark. _He is my enemy, not my doing, not my fault, he needs this, he will die without me ..._ and as Megatron's mind filled with justifications the small voice whispering unease inside his helm smothered and went quiet, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of the moment.

"Spare me your lies," Optimus ground out, sounding ever angrier. "You aren't fooling anyone."

Megatron snapped out of his reverie and answered harshly, “And again, this is not my doing. I am merely dealing with the resulting mockery of freedom your faction is responsible for.”

“Tell me your favorite phrase again,” Megatron asked with a familiar sneer as he intentionally goaded his new captive; steering him towards the physical fight he so desired. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings?”

Optimus stepped forward, fully intent on starting the fight Megatron seemed to be baiting him into. Megatron eagerly set his pedes into a fighting stance and began to say something even ruder, only to fall silent as Optimus slid to his knees, clutching at his helm in pain until he hit the floor. And laid there shaking silently. The coding really hadn’t liked his intentions and promptly shut him down.

“Wonderful.” Megatron looked disappointed as he slid out of a battle stance. “This is going to make defeating you in a fight and then fragging you into a wall _for your own good_ much more difficult than I thought. For spark’s sake calm down, Prime. I am not actually upset with you.”

The magic words, as it were. The coding unclenched his limbs, and Optimus slowly sat up, though his mind still burned. _You are such a terrible slave,_ the coding whispered to him.

And it was true that Megatron wasn't upset. He couldn't be more thrilled and his electromagnetic fields thrummed with anticipation. This entire turn of events was something of a personal fantasy come to life, and he was eager to tend to his new acquisition. He remained cautious, as Prime has always been a dangerous opponent, but from what he knew of slave coding Optimus Prime would now be his to enjoy for the rest of their lives.

Megatron kept his regal composure - however hard it was to keep his razor smile at bay - and knelt down to one knee. He carefully laid his hand on his captive’s thigh. “So, how do you want to play this, Prime?”

“You know I don’t actually need an overload but once every three or four days," Optimus protested quietly, too exhausted to do much else. The hand on his thigh felt warm and intimate and he wanted to push it away, but found he couldn't. "You just activated the coding today. I need nothing from you. I don’t want this.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Megatron conceded. “But what sort of caretaker waits for his charge to starve before providing what is needed? I intend you to find me a generous host.”

Optimus scoffed at that.

“Prime," Megatron leaned closer, "If our positions were reversed, would you allow me to suffer into deactivation? Or would you provide for my needs yourself? Answer me honestly.”

Optimus winced. _Of course I would help him, but if I admit that he will use it against me._

“I…” and Optimus hesitated, but he had to answer. The coding lashed him, pain growing ever stronger the longer he delayed. “I would not allow you to suffer if I could help it, but I would not enjoy taking you against your will.”

“Mhn," and Megatron was clearly pleased with that answer, feeling vindicated. "That would be the difference between us. Now that you understand your situation, if we cannot let this happen naturally,” and his smirk told Optimus that was clearly his preference, “are you going to open your panels for me peacefully, or will you require assistance?”

Optimus glowered at him and started to answer, only to be interrupted as Megatron put up a jovial hand.

“Before you answer, consider that I openly admit I will be enjoying this either way. I fully intend to overload you against every single solid surface I can find, and perhaps a few I can’t for good measure. Your thrashing will only add to the experience ... for me.” Megatron smirked again. He really _was_ enjoying this.

“I won’t make it easy for you, if that’s what you are asking.” Optimus responded quietly. “But the truth is… I am not going to be much fun to play with. You are late to the party.”

Megatron tilted his head quizzically at that statement, but then snorted dismissively as he thought he understood what Optimus meant.

“I take it that Galvatron was … providing for you originally, as he is responsible for the code. I can see by the state of your frame that he has enjoyed himself greatly at your expense. You are mistaken if you think I hold any qualms against … experienced berth mates. Only Autobots would value some ideal of purity in their command personnel. I assure you once we get you cleaned up, you will be most satisfactory.”

Optimus swallowed thickly, but didn’t answer. That was not at all what he meant.

His processor reeled and he swayed on his knees for a moment. He was having trouble processing his new reality, feeling disconnected from himself. Worse, his energy levels were dropping fast. Megatron noticed and stepped forward, wrapping his large servos around Optimus' hip struts. The warlord carefully lifted his captive up and settled him back into the chair. Hovering over Optimus for a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and strode away with purpose.

Exhausted, Optimus leaned back as Megatron walked away, almost too tired to think anymore. He propped his helm against the backrest and focused on ventilating, his body aching through and through.

_Endure ... survive ... if only for my Autobots. If only for Ratchet's sake._

The thought was almost a mantra now, seeing him through the worst of everything. He was still intact, but just barely. His previous captivity had ground him down to shards, and his connection to his frame seemed ... distant now. He'd hoped Megatron would be decent enough to wait the few days before the coding would demand physical contact, but apparently that was not going to be the case.

Megatron seemed intent on forcing himself on Optimus immediately.

Optimus watched as Megatron returned with a few cubes of what appeared to be yellow energon. He saw Megatron set them aside, and winced when Megatron reached out and grabbed his chin, thoughtfully twisting his face from side to side, peering into his pale blue optics.

“Terrible. Open your mouth.” Another command.

Optimus complied after a moment, and huffed when Megatron inserted two fingers into his intakes. They rooted around his mouth, testing his denta and sliding under his glossa. He realized Megatron was checking his temperature for whatever reason, examining the color of his inner metal. Oral lubricants trickled out of his mouth during the intimate probing.

Optimus winced, trying to pull away, earning himself another jag of pain from the coding. It was for nothing as Megatron grabbed him with a muttered “hold still,” and pulled him back anyway. Megatron finished his inspection with a frown. He didn't like what he saw, and then withdrew his fingers.

Optimus wiped his mouth.

“Here, drink this," Megatron ordered, and his razor smile finally broke through. "Can’t have you passing out on me during our first interface, now can we? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

So damned smug.

Too hungry to refuse, Optimus tried to take the offered cube, but his hand shook too badly to get a grip.

Megatron’s grin faded back into a frown, and he grasped Optimus’ face again. Tilting him back, he carefully poured the contents of the cube down Optimus' intakes. He did the same with the next cube. All the while, his fields pulsed with enjoyment for the flinch of embarrassment that crossed Optimus’ face as he hungrily swallowed the weak fuel.

Megatron used his fingers to collect the last few drops and smiled predatorily at his new captive. “Open your mouth, Prime.”

Optimus flinched harder and slid back, shuddering as the code kept punishing him for trying to defy his new master. The coding lashed him and he did open his intakes a bit, even as he pushed himself away. Megatron smirked playfully, but licked the fluid off his own fingers and then gestured for his worried captive to calm down.

Megatron frowned as the shaking continued, even after fuel was provided. “Hmm. You really do look terrible, Prime." He could hardly see Optimus for all of the dirt and filth that coated his frame. The crusting grime on his thighs and legs was _very_ questionable in origin.

"Shower first, then,” Megatron decided.

Reaching down, he mech-handled Optimus to his feet, not bothering to order him to walk. Optimus was a complete wreck, too injured for anything more then a feeble shuffle, and Megatron ended up just hauling him into his personal shower, all but lifting him off the ground.

The wash racks were made of the same gray metal and big enough for two mechs to move around comfortably. The crude showerhead could detach to better clean hard to reach places, and the ground beneath the showerhead was sloped into a makeshift basin, deep enough if plugged for one mech to submerge and bathe comfortably, though two would need to be creative to fit.

The next fifteen minutes were a haze of hot fluid, cleansers, and inappropriate touches.

...

Megatron turned on the shower and pulled his anxious and dreadfully filthy captive towards the basin. Prime struggled for a moment and then stumbled and fell into the makeshift tub, on his aft, with a huff of pain.

Hot fluid and roiling steam sprinkled down over him. It would feel good but for his growing fear. Even dripping with fluid, Prime's intakes ran dry when he looked up to see Megatron looming over him again. Then the heavy silver body of his ancient enemy joined him in the basin, and he reached down and pulled Prime to his pedes, their frames mere microns apart.

"I don't need your help," Prime rumbled resentfully at his captor.

Megatron returned his harsh gaze with an equally intense one. "That is entirely not the point."

Resentment transformed into fear as Megatron pulled him intimately close for a long moment, their abdominals brushing. Steam from the hot shower floated up around them and the dim lighting accentuated the small natural light-glow from their bodies; Megatron was burning brightly while Prime's biolighting shone as faint twinkles in the near darkness.

Megatron took the opportunity to explore the limits of his power and control over his new toy, and he was startled at what little Prime could do to fight him. Each attempt to struggle away was furiously punished by the slave coding.

"Turn around," Megatron ordered, and after a few flinches, Prime obeyed. The hot steam swirled and swirled around them as Prime obeyed even while trying not to touch his new owner.

It was a futile endeavor.

Megatron reached out and ran his hands over the battered frame before him. Tilting Prime's helm back, he pulled Prime snug against his chest plates. It was amazing, touching his old enemy like this. The sheer scope of his control was finally starting to sink in as he wrapped his arms around Prime. Squeezing him close, he brushed his lip plating along the back of Prime's tense neck cables, nibbling along those pulsing lines.

Megatron could feel how frightened Prime was by the contact, even as he was emboldened and delighted by the clear proof of his complete mastery. He felt a thrill of excitement race down his back strut. Cooling fans up-ticking a notch, he listened to the soft breaths of his frightened enemy.

Prime endured the inspection and handling as he must. The fingers teasing him with their sly intimate touches might have been pleasant except that Prime only recently escaped being Galvatron’s personal punching bag. That, and he couldn't help but shy away from the seeming mockery of intimacy. He was absolutely certain that he was mere moments away from being brutalized as before. Everything hurt, and he really, really didn’t want to be touched by Megatron; waiting for the torture to start was making him sick with anxiety.

Then Megatron pushed Prime forward. "Helm down," he ordered as twinges of lust further warmed his interface array.

Pressing his old adversary against the wall, Megatron pushed Prime's helm down and held it there while hot fluid sprinkled down and around them, little rivers running down their thighs. He ran his servos all over Prime's body, listening to his ragged vents. He pressed closer, covering Prime's back plating with his front, pressing his hot outer panels against Prime's aft, moving as if planning to take him from behind.

Prime let out a soft rumble of dismay, and Megatron relished the sound. Reaching down, he ran his servo over the tense belly of the other, trailing his fingers down and over the closed interface panel. Then he pushed against Prime with fervor, crowding him, goading him to move or struggle. But the slave coding held Prime in thrall to his new owner, and he was forced to obey.

Megatron was very pleased.

"Open your outer panel," Megatron commanded, his voice still powerful as a murmur into his captive's sensitive blue audial. Prime huffed, frightened, but was too weak and damaged tonight for a struggle. His outer panel opened with a _snick,_ revealing two smaller, inner panels protecting his soft, delicate components; his spike and valve.

 _He is truly mine,_ Megatron thought. His thick armor plating flared as his spark surged in sheer delight.

Finally satisfied with his inspection, Megatron stepped back, ending the pseudo-threat and instead used the showerhead to start rinsing Prime off. He found himself working over some of the worst spots and eventually Prime's entire outer body was clean and sprayed off.

Finally Megatron shut off the spray of hot fluid, satisfied with the state of Prime's plating, however tattered. He didn't own much, but what he did own was _his_ , and jealously guarded and looked after.He did take note the extent of the damage, now that he could clearly see what he was working with. Flicking over Prime's frame and the tremble of his fingers, he mentally reconsidered the force he intended to bring to bear ... a lighter touch would be required here if he intended Prime to enjoy their first time.

“There, much better,” Megatron said and his razor denta bared in satisfaction.

Then Megatron pressed Prime around until his back was firmly against the shower wall with his pedes standing in the basin. Holding him there, Megatron then lowered his hand down his captive’s plating and began to trace the seams.

“This is pathetic,” Prime clung to the tattered remnants of his dignity, understanding that this wasn't another exploratory test. Megatron was moving with firm intent now, and Prime was not enjoying his touches in the slightest. “You are better than this.”

“The first time is always a little awkward,” Megatron replied mischievously as he stroked a confident hand down Prime's lower plating, skirting around the worst of the damage to his frame. Leaning close, his electromagnetic fields flowed freely over his captive, as he knew Prime was no threat to him tonight.

Prime scowled at him. “You know that is not what I meant.”

The amusement pulsing in Megatron's fields was rapidly deepening to lust as he played with Prime's interface panel. His servos traced along the seams and teased around the cover, eager to dip into and explore the intimate components of his frightened enemy.

“Try to relax a little," Megatron said, sounding almost playful. "I am certain by your second or third overload you will be enjoying yourself.” Confident of himself, he sounded assured in his ability to work his captive into enjoying his intrusions.

“I very much doubt that,” Prime muttered.

“So little faith in your new leader. We will address that tonight.” Ignoring all the fussing, Megatron tapped Optimus' valve covering. “Now open this.” He noted with interest that it already felt hot under his fingers, though he was certain Prime wasn’t ready for him.

Not yet.

Meanwhile, Prime closed his optics and tilted his helm back in pain as the coding bent and lashed at his mind. Afraid for what would come next, he fought that order as hard as he could. He worked his intakes and shook his head as the pain grew stronger and stronger as the coding tried to force him to respond. Given an order by his new master, eventually he would have no choice but to obey.

“You are already warm for me, Prime. Did Galvatron not satisfy you?” Megatron gave Prime a sly look while continuing his ministrations. “I expected a little more effort on my part. You weren’t lying about needing my spike tonight, were you?”

Prime glared through his grinding pain and shook his helm in answer, but otherwise said nothing more.

Megatron watched the battle his captive was waging against his own mind, optics bright with keen interest. “Now for the last time, open your panel," he ordered again, tapping the cover with an impatient finger. He licked his lips, eager to see how much reality resembled fantasy. "That is an order. Follow it before you collapse again.”

Giving in for the pain, Prime looked away and finally obeyed as Megatron’s smirk returned full force. His valve panel snapped aside as he shuttered his optics and waited for the reaction.

The amusement dropped from Megatron’s fields an instant later.

Prime might have enjoyed ruining Megatron’s plans for the night, except that this was his interface equipment on display. He remained fearful that Megatron might be more of a complete bastard then he could know, having never experienced him in any sort of intimate way before.

A spike in his valve tonight would be nothing short of brutal, agonizing torture.

Megatron scowled.


	5. Incompetent Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Optimus ruins all of Megatron's carefully laid plans. Curses foiled again. Optimus is still not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic scenes of sexual torture. Consider yourself warned.

 

“Well then," Megatron quirked a brow ridge, "That’s going to put a damper on tonight’s festivities, isn’t it?” 

“I dearly hope so.” Optimus sounded so tired.

“Really Prime?” Megatron snapped, offended again. He shifted his weight as he spoke, adjusting his grip. He was still holding Optimus down against the wall of the shower, but his armor was no longer flared as there was nothing arousing in what he was seeing. “I am not spiking you like this. What am I, some kind of-”

“-Unicronian,” Optimus muttered in offering. He was not enjoying this conversation.

“Indeed," Megatron agreed, and he frowned over his captive's brutalized ports, shaking his helm in amazement. "I think that is the angriest looking valve I have ever seen in my life.”

Optimus didn’t answer. He left his eyes closed, head down. That wasn’t the half of it. At least it seemed Megatron wouldn’t be taking his valve tonight; his electromagnetic fields were completely devoid of arousal. A bucket of ice water couldn't have done better to cool Megatron's lust, and Optimus let himself feel relieved. He huffed and coughed to clear his vents and some of his fear eased, though he didn’t trust Megatron in the slightest. He knew his old enemy could be very creative when he wanted something.

“So swollen and... distended,” Megatron continued, tracing a finger around the damage. He sounded almost impressed despite his disappointment in the turn the evening had taken. 

Optimus groaned and something hot and maniac began to rise within. He didn’t want to be touched there, he really didn’t. His back arched and he squirmed against the dark servo holding him still, though it did him no good.

“What did he do, punch your array for hours on end? Is this an example of Unicronian foreplay? I should send Vortex over to their base. He would love it.” The last part was muttered as Megatron dropped down to inspect his captive’s valve (pre-broken for his inconvenience). Two careful fingers traced his valve entrance, probing for entry.

Beyond the shocking state of Optimus' interface array, what little Megatron could see of his inner metal suggested deep, serious levels of damage. Optimus' abdominals and internals were showing a protoform-deep discoloration, a result of an extensive mess of broken tubules and circuits. There was no hope in the universe of coaxing pleasure out of Prime tonight, and now he wasn't even going to try.

Then Megatron’s fingers encountered foreign metal just inside the valve entrance. He felt along the thing with careful intent, trying to figure out if it was a part of Optimus’ internals that had ruptured through or…

“What the merry hell is this?” and Megatron's tone grew incredulous as he recognized the wretched object lodged in a place it had no business being. “I can't believe it. You were fighting me... with _this_ in _there?”_

This being the blaster, and there being his valve. It was a small one, meant to be hidden on the body and pulled out in an emergency. It was still far too large and had no business in its present location.

Optimus clenched his denta and reached towards his valve with harsh fingers. He wanted this over with and right now he didn’t care if he bled out. _To the pit with this._

“Don’t touch that!” Megatron roared at him.

Optimus startled, obeying without thought as the slave coding responded instantly to the clear command. He threw his hands outward, up and away from his body. Then he blinked, and began to glower at his new captor.

“Oh please,” Megatron admonished him. “Perhaps we shall let an actual medic tend to…” and he trailed off. Actually, his only available medic shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near this situation, come to think of it.

“Don’t touch your valve,” Megatron’s order was clear and firm. “You will damage yourself, and I will be making use of it.  Eventually.” He frowned in disappointment. “Well, within three days most certainly.”

Optimus dropped his gaze, swallowing and working his intakes with feverish dismay. He was hating every moment of this and it showed.

“No, I am sorry, but that won’t do at all." Megatron was beyond irritated at finding his captive too damaged for any sort of play. "Really Prime. You are being insufferable.”

Megatron bared his sharp denta and pushed his captive right back into the shower wall. But this time, he pulled out the ratty stasis cuffs with a flourish. Throwing the span over a hook in the wall, he forced Optimus to dangle flat against the shower with his hands secured over his head. He then secured his captive's pedes with bindings to random protrusions so that his legs remained spread. He could touch the ground with the tips of his pedes, but he couldn't close his legs.

The wall wasn’t meant to be used this way, but again, Megatron could be creative when he wanted something.

“I am only binding you down to keep you from hurting yourself,” Megatron explained. “Don’t flatter yourself to think I am worried you might be a threat to me. I am just making sure you don’t bleed out before I can enjoy you.”

Megatron checked to make sure the bindings held firm, tugging on them until satisfied.

“Before you wind yourself up too far, remember that this coding is Autobot in origin. I am only fulfilling duties your Autobot predecessors set down for your care. The slave coding is an Autobot invention. Decepticons do not believe in slavery.”

Optimus glowered at him. "And yet you intend to benefit from my captivity." He pointed out the contradiction with utmost disdain, wincing as more pain flared across his circuits from the coding. _Should not be so insolent with master,_ it whispered.

"This situation is born of your faction's invention," Megatron answered. "Not mine. I can hardly be blamed for your unfortunate situation."

"Then _release me_ ," Optimus snapped. "I don't want your help."

"I refuse," Megatron flashed him a sharp grin. "You may not want it, but you do need it. Whether or not I enjoy our new reality is entirely beside the point."

Optimus stopped responding then, as they were arguing in circles now. Megatron's feeble protestations rang hollow to Optimus as it was obvious he was enjoying touching and handling him. Megatron may claim not to believe in slavery, but his actions during the war and his response to this situation showed the opposite. It infuriated him that Megatron refused to acknowledge that.

But Megatron didn't seem happy with this situation anymore. He frowned down at the tiny bit of blaster within reach and seemed resigned to his task. Kneeling down, he palpated the area, which was pinched shut with only the tip of the handle peeking out between the dreadfully swollen folds. He worked his way inside to get a sense of how it was lodged. Careful probing fingers felt around the offending item, but he could tell it was too painful to just start pulling out.

Optimus’ breathing became ragged as he began to panic, the pain swelling down below. He'd been tied down like this very recently. The experience was fresh in his processor, as was the wretchedly familiar pain that tore through him.

Beyond the physical misery was a deep, pervading fear. It wound through him, flickering through his EM fields and drying his intakes. Megatron was his ancient enemy, a powerful soldier, warrior, and tyrant, and had never, never been this way with him before. The intimacy of their bodies and fields after such endless conflict frighten him like Galvatron’s stupid, pointless assaults never could.

“You don’t have a medic that can do this?” Optimus asked with gritted denta.

“I do have a medic,” Megatron answered, sounding distracted. He was still busy feeling around Prime’s valve. “Unfortunately, Hook is not … mentally well. I would not trust him to repair you.”

Megatron glanced away, dark memories creeping back unbidden, replying behind his optics...

 

_Megatron had been passing by the makeshift medbay when he heard Starscream’s drugged cries drifting out from within. This by itself was not unusual. His second was legitimately injured and should be mid-surgery. But something in the sound gave the Slagmaker pause._

_Striding into the room, Megatron realized an instant later why his troops would rather suffer with untreated injuries then go to the med bay for treatment from Hook. He had intended to look into the situation but he'd been so busy lately it had been shoved to the back of his list._

_In retrospect, perhaps that had been a dreadful mistake._

_Starscream was drugged... but only gone so far as to be incapable of saving himself. Semi-conscious, he was bound tight to the crude table requisitioned as a surgery berth, but what Hook was doing to him had nothing to do with medicine._

_His bleeding wings were crisscrossed from top to bottom with deep scalpel cuts. Beautiful spiraling patterns covered him as if his body a canvass and Hook the inspired artist. Already finished with his valve, Hook was giving Starscream’s spike the same treatment and it was clear Starscream was most displeased with his medical care._

_Especially since his actual injuries - deep stab wounds to his upper chest plates - had been completely ignored and still leaked vital fluids, his lifeblood gathering in forlorn puddles across the berth and onto the dingy floor._

_Starscream was at the end of a very, very bad day and was almost finished bleeding out. He somehow sensed Megatron was near and cried out for him. The glyphs were untenable, but the pleading tone was crystal clear._

_Hook had suffered the shattering loss of the other Constructicons, and he was taking it for the worse. He had been acting…off…lately, but nothing he'd done previous had indicated he was this far gone._

_Megatron looked down at the squirming Starscream and took in the horrifying scene with an ominous calm. Then he fixed Hook with a deathly glare._

_“Hook.”_

_Hook giggled even as he quailed under his leader’s burning gaze, and then his eyes caught on a clear section of beautiful white wing. He’s missed a spot. He reached out with his laser scalpel to correct the oversight and a black fist exploded into his face an instant later. Followed immediately by a pede to the midsection. The blow threw him halfway across the small medbay with a thundering crash._

_Oh right. Megatron._

_His leader fell upon him like a vengeful wraith and grabbed him by the throat. Smashing him into the wall over and over again, Megatron then dragged him back to the medical table._

_Hook spent the next few hours patching up the mess he'd made of Starscream’s body with a charged and furious cannon aimed at his head. A clenched fist - now splattered with Hook’s fluids - remained close at hand to return his attention to his work whenever his mind started to wander._

_Which was often._

_Megatron questioned every stitch, every patch, every weld, and in between that provided scathing commentary regarding Hook’s lineage, his work ethic, his personal hygiene - but most damnable of all - his inability to function when the Decepticons needed him the most._

_And when the last deep wound was closed and Starscream staggered off in search of his trine  ... “to check on those useless twits” …_

_(Translation: I need trine cuddles and I need them NOW)_

_…Megatron roared, Megatron raged, Megatron broke things, including the rest of Hook’s face._

_But not too badly. To his immense regret, Megatron still needed the Constructicon medic, and Hook knew it as well. For try as he might, he could not beat the giggling out of Hook..._

 

“No, I think Hook will be left out of our little situation," Megatron muttered darkly. He worked a cautious finger into Prime's tightly clenched valve, trying to work the offending item into a position easier for extraction. It shifted a tiny fraction and Megatron hesitated when Prime made a strangled sound that he'd never heard before.

It _did_ look very painful.

"This won't be pleasant," Megatron murmured as he removed his finger. "You have gone without medical attention for far too long. Settle down and I will have this out of you in a few moments. I do apologize for the crude state of our surroundings. Unfortunate your medic wasn’t captured along with you. I would vastly prefer you receive competent medical attention.”

 _There, that sounded supportive,_ Megatron thought. He was hoping to calm his new acquisition down a few notches so he could work the blaster free. All of the squirming wasn't making this process any easier. And what he said was true... if Prime hadn’t been so aft-headed to sacrifice himself for Ratchet’s sake, they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

The night would have been much more pleasant for them both. Well, for _him_ certainly in the beginning. But Prime would have come around, he was sure. No chance of that tonight, unfortunately.

Megatron could tell by Prime's electromagnetic field and his bared denta that despite his attempts to be supportive, his captive was moving into the realm of feverish panic. His frame was starting to shake violently, which would make the extraction process much more difficult.

 _I can't remove this with all the thrashing_. Prime's squirming was being counter-productive. "Hmm. I can see this is going to be unpleasant enough to merit a sedative," he muttered disapprovingly as their medical supplies were very low.

"Release me," Prime hissed at him resentfully, "and you won't have to deal with all this bother." His optics were getting white around the edges, a clear sign he losing all composure. He kicked out with a pede, even though the movement brought him intense pain now that Megatron had been worrying at his injuries.

"Never!" Megatron laughed. "I haven't even enjoyed you yet." He was pleased that Prime was still engaging with him. That was something at least. Reluctantly, he called Hook and gave him brisk orders to bring the needed items, and then killed the line with prejudice. Returning his attention to his sad little toy, he sat back on his heels to wait.

Prime just glowered and closed his optics as the long minutes passed.

Deciding he could make better progress if he could actually see what he was working with, Megatron turned on the tap and soaked a rag with hot fluid. Leaning in close, he started wiping around the unhappy port, working the rag and wiping away the internal fluid caked around the blaster. Fresh internal fluid began to flow and Prime's choked sounds convinced him to stop before he could make much progress. Sitting sat back on his pedes, he set the cloth away with a frown.

 _If his valve is this bad,_ Megatron thought, _I wonder if his spike fared any better... doubtful Galvatron would enjoy such play. He doesn't seem the type..._ he reached out and curiously slid two fingers into the spike sheath, intending to spread the protective folds and take a peek.

Prime's sudden roar of pain answered his probing fingers and he withdrew them in haste when he realized the brutal nature of the damage. They were most definitely not going to be playing with that piece of equipment for awhile.

Megatron shifted on his pedes, frowning at the mess he was confronted with. He was more then a little annoyed that all of his plans for the night have been completely and utterly ruined. He was further irritated that if Prime noticed how careful he was being with him, he didn’t indicate it. He didn’t even offer Megatron a complaint for his treatment or threats for all of the handling, or even a little bit of gratitude perhaps for the sedative coming.

Such a pity. He enjoyed their verbal spars almost as much as their physical battles. Megatron supposed he could forgive it, considering the circumstances. Prime really did look terrible. Megatron would admit he greatly enjoyed dominance games, but sexual torture of captives was beneath him.

“Don’t worry, Prime. I have been up to my elbow struts in mangled bodies all of my life. I am not without skill when it comes to dealing with blunt force wounds.” Said to Prime’s valve, the puff of his warm ex-vent flowing over it visibly in the cold, but he actually tried to sound reassuring.

Prime didn’t even bother to answer him.

Megatron resolved to ignore the slight. He continued to chat with Prime, still wanting to interact with his new toy tonight. Talk, threaten, frag into a wall...anything but this complete mess and the irritating silence. _By the Unmaker but I am being far kinder than I ever intended to be today._ Perhaps he was going soft.

Parish the thought.

“This situation is most disappointing,” he felt compelled to point out as Prime’s silence started to grate. “I was expecting we would be well into our third round of interfacing by now. This entire night is turning into a complete waste.”

No answer again, and Megatron glanced up at Prime. He narrowed his optics at the look on his captive’s face. Prime was starting to look a little…maniac. Perhaps a distraction would help. Maybe some information on his medic would take the edge off his mind. Megatron reopened his com line.

“Starscream, report.”

“No sign of the medic yet,” Starscream cut straight to the point. “We can’t follow him down into the depths and we may not be able to spot him through the trenches.”

“No excuses. We need the Autobot medic. Our… situation grows more tenuous by the day.”

Hook’s mind was growing more and more tenuous by the day, he meant. No need to worry Prime over that little detail though. Unfortunate that no amount of corrective beatings seemed to fix the Constructicon’s mental state. Decepticons did not believe in therapy; they just hit the offender until the problem went away, one way or another. Their mental health policy worked wonderfully under normal circumstances.

“I am aware of this, glorious leader.” Starscream grumbled out. The title was snipped, dripping in snark.

_Must keep up appearances, after all._

It was Starscream’s brutalized wings and valve that had brought the problem to Megatron’s attention. Starscream was unaccustomed to needing such rescue and Megatron knew Starscream still felt uncharacteristic twinges of embarrassment over it. The state of his valve had also kept him out of Megatron’s berth for far too long. Megatron had always had a high libido, something of a curse. Hopefully it wasn’t showing.

“I will report immediately when we corner the medic.”

“Excellent.”

Megatron tapped the communicator in his wrist, terminating the line, and turned back to regard Prime.

 

***

They waited for Hook in uncompanionable silence. Megatron sized up the task with two fingers poised thoughtfully over his lips as Optimus suffered the sharp pains firing across his miserable circuits.

Embarrassment for his exposed interface array hardly registered at first, but started creeping into the room as the minutes passed. It intensified as Megatron continued to stare at the problem with concentration, frowning as he waited for Hook.

At least Megatron finally shut up.

The withering commentary was almost as unbearable as the stabbing pains in his valve. The miserable throbbing continued and Optimus wished he had torn the offending item out like he'd wanted when he first escaped. Ratchet had all but shrieked at him at the time, yelling about perforations, internals spilling out of ruptures, rust infections and not making the damage even worse.

Oh _Primus,_ things were worse now. How he wished he hadn’t listened. Optimus allowed himself to sink into a stupor as the moments dragged on and on.

Hook finally arrived as ordered and tried to enter the private shower, offering a thinly veiled charade of medical concern for the patient. Megatron refused him entry with a sharp motion of his hand. “Leave the supplies outside the door, and **get out.** ”

Hook obeyed, but only barely. Hesitating on his way out, he shot the wash rack doors a twisted look of utter longing, but finally left with a disappointed huff.

Megatron, frowning after him, gathered the supplies and returned to tend to Prime.

Megatron loaded the injector, tapping it briskly to remove trapped air bubbles. The sound roused Optimus out of his stupor. With a faint, trembling rattle of his plating, he opened his optics. They caught on the loaded injector, and his dim, battered plating flared.

Megatron leaned in to inject him, and Optimus pushed against him, trying to block him with his body. He moaned in pain for the movement, but still set his pedes in weak determination.

“You should choose your battles more carefully,” Megatron said, his tone calm and even. “You need my help.” Stuttered in-vent. No answer. Megatron started forward again, and Optimus, defeated, allowed him inject the fluid into one of his main lines without a fight.

And then all of the pain quickly melted away.


	6. Starscream and Pipe Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream ponders plot points, and how Prime is going to change things between himself and Megatron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-traumatic Optimus x Megatron smut in the next chapter, promise.

“Excellent.”

Megatron closed the connection, leaving Starscream to ponder this new development… whether or not Megatron’s iron grip on his faction was going soft and if this could be used to his advantage.

Megatron had been more concerned about his troops lately, maintaining standing orders that no one was expendable. He conducted raids and attacks against the Unicronians with far more caution then he was known for. He led every attack himself (which was normal) and approached and fought Galvatron with a level of intense concentration that he never displayed when fighting Prime (not normal).

He also strictly enforced the new rule that no one was to be left behind (also not normal). _Most likely because we are stranded permanently on this wretched world in the middle of nowhere, all of us,_ Starscream thought. He knew there were no reinforcements left alive and no way to increase their population.

The final nail for the coffin wherein lies Phase Seven.

That was probably why Megatron had taken Starscream’s attempted desertion so personally. _That had been a beating and a half,_ and he remembered that night with a bitter smile. He'd been dragged behind Megatron for hours, hauled over the frozen ground by his wings as they marched away from the bedlam of the original exile dump site.

He also remembered with a twinge of fondness the resulting reclaiming frag Megatron had subjected him to during the first night on their new home world. They all ended up huddled together at the bottom of a shallow trench, heads down and wings tucked in against the bitter cold. They had crushed against each other in a mass of frigid metal as the temperatures rapidly dropped to lethal levels.

Megatron had stood up out of the wretched mass and gave his _we will triumph because we are Decepticons, let your hate keep you warm_ speech to try and raise his faction’s shattered spirits to something a little above suicidal depression.

Then Megatron had dropped back down, pinned Starscream against Blast Off’s broad back, and spent half the night assailing every single interface port he owned as the others crushed in around them for warmth. With barely any space to move for either of them, he did his best to minimize the damage Megatron had intended to inflict on his frame while also openly enjoying every single overload the Slagmaker’s thick spike wrenched from his valve.

Then Motormaster had aggressively shoved his way into the middle of the mass, reaching Megatron’s back and pushing in, wordlessly offering his body as the leverage the Warlord needed to really work over Starscream’s wonderfully aching valve. The resulting shrieking had him living up to his name.

He remembered how everyone had watched them without a twinge of embarrassment; Megatron was Starscream’s superior after all. Everyone had been in his place at some point after crossing someone higher up the Decepticon food chain.

No, what had embarrassed him were the servos that had reached out from the mass of bodies and ran their lusty fingers over his legs, inner thighs, and wings. Some aft even pushed fingers up into Starscream’s tailpipe. He would have shrieked with rage if Megatron hadn’t been using his intakes so completely at the time.

Mechs of lower rank that normally would never dare such impunity did so that night. It had added to the experience, yes, but authority of command had to be upheld, no matter the circumstances. They even touched Megatron himself, who didn’t seem to notice, as he was too busy making damned sure Starscream remembered who owned every inch of his scuffed, dirty, beautiful body.

Or at least Megatron had pretended not to notice the hands running up and down his back and body and cannon. More proof Megatron was an unfit leader. He would never, ever admit that the heat the two of them had generated that night had been greatly appreciated by the Decepticons around them, or that the show had raised spirits far higher than any speech could have.

 _And now Optimus Prime is his personal captive,_ and that was a novel thought. Starscream knew Prime would surely be taking Megatron’s interest fully away. Prime would be an irresistibly tempting distraction, a novel toy. The careful way Megatron handled Prime, as he had flown home bared watching too. Perhaps his understandable interest in his old enemy could be used against him.

Megatron likely wouldn’t be sparing even a glance in Starscream’s direction so long as the Prime was there to torment.

Starscream wasn’t sure what he thought about that.

Megatron was just never this sentimental, this careful, under normal circumstances. Starscream could smell opportunity, but it couldn’t seem to coalesce into a solid plan in his mind.

Starscream abruptly ordered his two fellow jets to land, to allow time for the pathetic natural fuel that permeated the planet to convert to usable energon in his fuel tanks. If they didn’t let the process catch up, they would offline and crash as their fuel lines ran dry. This also meant they couldn’t break orbit; it was simply impossible to have the fuel reserves necessary to break free of the planet’s gravity.

He climbed a small hill and looked out over the horizon, and the view remained barren and inhospitable.

That visage just about summed up all of their lives to date.

The Autobots had disappeared without a trace into the subterranean cave systems, while the Decepticons and Unicronians fought over the surface. Razorclaw and his Predacons prowled on the outskirts of territory, attacking and eating anyone they could single out.

Currently the Unicronians were busy cornering the Autobots underground and picking away at them, but they couldn’t count on the Autobots holding Galvatron’s attention forever… especially since he gleefully reanimated any slain Cybertronians into more Sweeps.

The Galactic Council must have been thrilled that the Cybertronian war had finally been isolated to this Jupiter- sized planet, and had even stationed a small but heavily armed fleet to patrol the sector.

Just to be sure.

They did occasionally drop supplies for the exiles, medical and practical ones (though nothing that could be converted into weapons). This was why the factions haven’t dispersed more widely, yet. Other than the Autobots, anyway.

Starscream huffed, rubbing at his abdominals absentmindedly, not liking the weak fluttering feeling. He promptly put the reason for that out of his mind.

Turning, the distracted seeker gestured to his subordinates to get their attention. He transformed and took back to the air. Acid Storm and Thrust leapt into formation, following obediently behind. Acid Storm took his position on the right, but Thrust, taking left, positioned himself just a little too close. Not fully out of formation, no … but too close. His EM field brushed slightly against Starscream’s; flirtatious and supportive.

Starscream ignored him.

It was another reminder of their situation. Without hope of escape or adding to the population, mechs had started pairing off as base needs still needed fulfilled, and the choices were very limited. Some mechs like Hook and Vortex looked to be slag out of luck in the fragged senseless department. Starscream wasn't worried for himself. He had his trine and Megatron - assuming his leader ever grew tired of his new frag toy.

But Starscream was very much a prize to catch; and the other flight mechs jostled to keep his attention. _I guess things aren’t all bad,_ and at least he wasn’t worried about facing an empty berth every night for the rest of eternity.

At his side, the two other jets continued to search over the trenches and cracks below for any sign of movement. Finding none, Starscream soon slipped back into distracted reflection.

Decepticons weren’t monogamous as a rule, as that was a weakness that would be exploited. Normally, Starscream was incorrigible and utterly shameless when it came to fragging. He truly enjoyed it rough. Many trysts had ended with him limping back to his quarters from wherever, with battered plating and leaking valve, EM fields throbbing in satiated satisfaction.

But waking up in the dilapidated medbay in screaming pain, seeing a snarling Megatron using a hot blade to cauterize his bleeding wings while roaring obscenities at a downed Hook … now that had rattled him.

Specifically, the concern and rage over his wellbeing rattled him. That, and being grounded and limping around the base for weeks had done nothing for his ego. Both his valve and his wings had been utterly, maliciously sliced and shredded.

The looks of concern that followed him around the base when the others thought he wasn’t paying attention were galling. _Let me show you where you can put that pity._ Starscream had never punched so many subordinates so many times since the early days of the war when he was first building his fierce reputation.

Fearful respect had to be maintained, after all.

Mechs had taken it too, only ever scattering like rooks at his ire. Too many of them wanted a chance at getting under his plating. They know he is into the kinky stuff. But this place had changed them, changed their dynamic.

Soft. Everyone was going soft.

Forced interfacing outside of disciplining a lower member of rank for a clear and documented infarction was never acceptable for the rank and file (and there was a crystal clear line in the sand regarding that) much less the command levels. Hook should have been severely punished, but beyond Megatron’s furious beating (which Starscream suspected Hook might have enjoyed more then was acceptable) they couldn’t risk damaging their only medic to the point where he couldn’t preform fine surgery.

Hook had gotten off lightly and knew it. Gloated about it, even, however silently. Megatron was keeping a close eye on him and everyone else treating him like the mad dog he was slowly becoming.

Megatron. Megatron Megatron. Still a pain in his aft. And his valve. Intakes too. Mmm. Megatron. The endless obstacle.

Starscream still desired to defeat him and take over leadership, but he couldn't figure out how to do it without taking Megatron entirely out of the picture, and thus losing his fighting abilities.

Currently only Megatron could stand pede to pede with Galvatron. Starscream’s attempt to face down the mad tyrant had ended with himself semi-conscious in the medbay, much to Hook’s delight.

Hours later, and with energy levels dipping to dangerous levels despite their full tanks, Starscream finally called off the search for the Autobot medic. It would be dark soon, and nights on this planet were terminally cold for poorly fueled mechs. He contacted Megatron with the bad news and the three weary seekers winged their way back to base.

Ratchet had won this round. Hopefully the talented fool would survive the night.

Drifting in the sky towards home, Starscream looked forward to getting indoors. The freezing night sky on this planet was heavy with silt, and felt gritty and dirty against his wings.

 _There is nothing for it,_ Starscream reflected with regret. For without Megatron’s thick armor and ability to pummel Galvatron into a standoff, Starscream knew he would end up like Prime under Galvatron's thumb:

A slave to a mad mech.


	7. Tank Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron exercises his better nature. Much to his complete regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Not much really. Megatron/Optimus smut, but it's all one sided. This chapter is completely safe, actually.
> 
> Thanks everyone for your comments, I appreciate it!

The lights were dimmed low, but even as late as it was, red optics still glowed in the darkness. They gleamed a low red light over two entwined forms lying together on a berth just large enough to hold them both.

Megatron couldn’t fall into recharge.

His own needs left completely unfulfilled, his body humming with a charge he couldn’t release as he desired … he was as far from recharge as was possible. This entire evening had been a complete disappointment. Prime had passed out immediately after being given the sedative, ending their delightful encounter far too quickly.

He regretted that, even though he knew it was necessary. He hadn't really appreciated how damaged Prime actually was, nor did he understand why. What was the point of violently brutalizing such a helpless foe as a mech afflicted by the slave coding? It stunk of two-dimensional thinking and a certain lack of imagination.

Had Galvatron been trying to make some kind of point? There seemed so many better ways to accomplish such a thing, without leaving said code slave in such an unusable state...

It was all rather frustrating. After Prime checked out for the evening, he'd had plenty of time to ponder as he spent the next hour gingerly fishing out that miserable blaster. He firmly believed that helping people was a personality flaw, but then again no one was perfect. Thankfully Prime had been completely unconscious for the duration. Other then some soft moans, he had been a model patient. Fortunately for him, his valve had done the impossible and folded around its intruder rather than tear.

No wonder he had been hurting so badly.

The internal fluids and mess that had followed when the blaster relinquished its place in Prime’s valve had been left to him to clean up as well. Part of his new duties to his new ... pet? ... and so he'd buckled down and got to work, as undignified as the entire thing had been. _Prime will have to make this up to me,_ Megatron decided.

He had a few ideas.

He'd started writing them down, in fact.

Several million years’ worth of ideas, really. He may have been guilty of fantasizing scenarios of this nature a few times. He was still blown away by the turn of their fates, and couldn't wait to start mapping out their new ... lives together.

The good news was that Prime should be ready for him within a few days, and his valve could take a lot of… enthusiasm. The bad news was he was going to have to wait a few days before he could start to enjoy his responsibilities to his new captive. He just needed to be patient.

Megatron sighed in irritation. _How I despise being patient._ He took a deep invent and tried to relax himself.

His reluctant new berth mate was still sedated and tucked snugly against the front of his body. Megatron's lip plating quirked a fraction when the source of his discontent shivered a little and nestled closer to his warm plating. The other clearly desired him, but only as a source of heat.

The uninhibited nuzzling was truly charming.

Nights on this miserable planet were deathly cold. Megatron imagined the Autobots probably slept together to stay warm, assuming they hadn’t found a more permanent shelter by now. His Deceptions had been forced to do the same the first few nights they had fled the original exile location. Quite a few of them were still doing so even though they now had sheltering metal over their heads.

As he was doing to Prime, now.

Megatron studied Prime as he slept. His eyes drifted slowly over his captive’s face, down further along his battered body and on to his still exposed valve, and then back up to his face again. He looked pale and even in sleep seemed quietly resigned to his fate. His weak EM field was heavily entwined with Megatron’s much stronger one, and pulsed with muted pain and exhaustion. The warbuild could feel little hints of fear in the invisible but tangible flickering.

So utterly delightful.

Megatron supposed he couldn’t blame his old enemy for that. His situation was most unfortunate, especially for such a powerful, honorable being. Prime had always exuded a sense of dignity, of strength and self-respect. Being forced to lose all control over his body to the unwanted desires of another - even worse - a life long _rival_ must be absolutely galling.

Megatron knew he should be ashamed for enjoying this, but he really wasn’t. To have such control was exciting and incredibly arousing. He really, really regretted not being able to dip himself into Prime’s mouth and body tonight.

He had all sorts of plans, and had even procured a small vibrating toy to make sure Prime couldn’t just close his eyes and distance himself away from the proceedings. Starscream had pressed it unbidden into his hand with a wicked smirk.

Of course he had tested it first, just to make sure it worked and wasn’t some sort of painful prank. It worked. It was perfect in fact. Simple, straightforward vibration in a non-threatening, tapering cylinder form, mundane and completely Autobot in function. _Perfect._

He reminded himself not to thank Starscream for that.

He had had _plans._

It was going to start with a good fight, he was even going to be generous and let Prime get a few good hits in, knowing his captive was too pathetically weak from his previous captivity to be a challenge. A few decent hits back, nothing too damaging, and then a full body tackle. Stun him, dominate him a little, push him into the closest wall and start in on him.

Prime would have opened his intakes to admonish Megatron in that oh-so-self-righteous tone and his mouth would have been the first thing he would have claimed. Work it over, enjoy all the lubricants and muffled noises as Prime tries to appeal to his better nature. And when that fails Prime would try to upset him, kick at him, rile him up, do anything to get him out of the mood, but he wasn’t going to give one damned rusty screw.

He would release his mouth, or maybe Prime would work his mouth free, and then Megatron would have started the dirty talk while exploring his captive’s sweet spots. He had been queuing up some good lines as soon as he had lifted Prime’s body off the ground and all during the flight back to base.

He was going to work Prime over damned good, as long as it took until Prime was dripping wet for him. Then he would force Prime’s interface panel open. Too much to expect him to open himself up willingly, Prime was too uptight, too inhibited for something like that. True acquiesce would come later, he knew. Commanding him would break the rhythm, no, he would just have to take what he wanted this first time.

As soon as his captive’s delicate components were exposed, he would have started in on Prime’s valve with his fingers, and when Prime protested _grumble grumble this is a violation don’t you have something better to do, grumble grumble, thought you were better than this, grumble grumble_ he would withdraw and slip the vibrator in instead.

Prime was going to struggle, squirm against him, oh the noises he was going to extract from that vocalizer… he’d open his own cover then and introduce himself, rub his impressive spike length between Prime’s soft valve folds, and let the small vibrator do its work inside.

Then when lubricants were running down Prime’s legs after his first overload, while his valve was still rippling in bliss, folds trembling against his burning hot length and his optics were resetting, he was going to grab Prime by the hip struts, lift him up and pull him down into that first glorious thrust. He would thrust in firm and hard and work over all of Prime's internal nodes, amping the charge between them. It was going to be hard, so hard, but he was going to wait until Prime’s second overload before letting himself have his first. He would wait until Prime was shaking with pleasure, and only then allowing himself to overload. Only then allow himself to empty out and fully claim his adversary’s trembling body and valve.

Then he was going carry Prime over to the berth, lay him out and open, and take him again and again and again. Slow and languid, both of them drenched in their combined fluids, he was going to coax every drop of pleasure out of Prime until the other body was completely exhausted. Then he was going to flip him over onto his chest plates and -

A crackling charge across his lower body interrupted Megatron’s lurid thoughts as the charge within him built up to dangerous levels.

Slag. This was not helping. Only one thing would, now.

He sighed at the indignity of it all. A moment later he brought a rag out of his subspace and after checking to be absolutely sure Prime wasn’t awake to see this, took care of the problem with a few quick strokes. Charge and searing hot transfluid released, but still utterly unsatisfied, he dropped the rag beneath the berth to deal with later.

Megatron sighed as he turned back and spooned around Prime again.

Still too revved up to recharge, he instead gently ran his fingers up and over the attractive blue hip strut of his old enemy. He slid his fingers down along the thighs until he reached the pelvic span, but stopped himself from dipping into the soft mesh of the battered valve, now resting mere microns away from his questing fingers. He touched the puffy outer rim, tracing the softness, so slick with the medical cream he had applied to it.

The medication was a reminder to behave himself, and he rumbled impatiently, his engine cycling over. He did rest his fingers gently against the tender metal, but then stopped himself again. Finally he removed his hand back to Prime’s hip.

_Primus he had never wanted to frag someone so hard in his long life._

This happened again and again all night, while Megatron did indeed fight to hold on to his better nature. He _was_ better than this. Fortunately the other mech was too exhausted and sedated to rouse at the frequent light touches, the puffs of his ventilations remaining uneven, attesting to his deep injuries.

Megatron signed again, and he knew he had to stop this. He re-adjusted himself until he was more comfortable and then allowed his hands one last journey down Prime’s body. Returning to the pelvic span, he triggered the outer metal of his hands to grow from warm to hot, and settling for the next best thing. He cupped the sore valve in his hand, covering it in a soothing heat.

Claiming it to the extent that he could, tonight.

They should both be asleep right now, too satiated to do more than breathe the other’s ex-vents, but that was not to be. Megatron resolved to beat the ever loving slag out of Galvatron for this indignity at the earliest opportunity.

Finally he cycled down into recharge.


	8. Chapter Eight: Bad Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream punches many faceplates, and Megatron finally gets a little. But only a taste. Poor Optimus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Optimus/Megatron, Inappropriate touches. non-con oral.

Optimus Prime was still deep in recharge when Megatron awoke the next cycle. He had always been an early riser, but Prime was an excellent berth warmer in spite of all the random shivering. Then he glanced at his internal chronometer, blinking in surprise when he realized he'd recharged a full hour longer than normal.

Slag.

Prime remained in recharge even when Megatron released his hold and slid over his prone body to get to his pedes. Looking him over, he also noted that Prime had closed his interface panel at some point in the night.

Megatron debated removing it completely, torn between having access to the components beneath it at all times and the enjoyment he would derive from ordering Prime to open for him.

Megatron pondered a moment, and then decided to leave it be, for now.

He was just about to drag Prime out of their berth so he could refuel him, and maybe sneak in a few more of those touches the Prime insisted were inappropriate. But before he could, he was pinged by Starscream.

Apparently they were having trouble with Hook again.

Megatron looked longingly over at the recharging form. Prime had a tiny frown on his face, and his vents were soft and uneven. There was a pearl of oral lubricant on his lip and tremors rattled his plating; little shivers for the loss of body warmth. It was a lovely view filled with tempting possibilities, and Megatron wanted nothing more then to stay and play. But he really did need to get on with his day, being the leader of the Decepticons after all. It wouldn’t do to leave his pit spawned faction to their own devices.

Especially Starscream.

With his injuries, Prime really did need the extra recharge anyway ... _we will have tonight to get more physically acquainted ..._ and he saw another little shiver from the berth, and Megatron looked so forward to that. He had plans.

Gulping down several cubes of weak energon, he left out a few where Prime could see them and also snatched up the rag from the night before to dispose of it. He checked to make sure he was appropriately presentable then briskly left his quarters.

Duty came first, always.

 

* * *

 

It turned out Hook had not been the problem this morning ... at least not more than he had been lately.

Octane had refused to report to the debilitated medbay for his medical appointment, however. He was in desperate need of a recalibration of his targeting systems. They were malfunctioning, causing him to accidentally shoot at his own faction members. Never a good thing.

He was supposed to meet with Thundercracker outside the medbay, as the Decepticons were currently using the buddy system when dealing with Hook. You stare apprehensively at the constructicon giggling over your systems, while your buddy points a gun at the disturbed mech’s head.

Fair enough.

But when Starscream had arrived to drag him there after Thundercracker pinged him about the no show, none of the rank and file knew where he was.

How very strange.

After punching and threatening his way from one side of the base to the other, Starscream finally found someone that the tanker hadn’t managed to properly bribe (don’t ask him what Octane had promised them in payment, Starscream didn’t want to know). After several repeated blows to his pretty face, Swindle spilled the goods and he finally tracked down the delinquent fuel tanker: buried alive in the bowels of the starship while covered with as much debris as physically possible.

Starscream understood the sentiment. No really, he did. He just didn’t tolerate it.

Octane had panicked as he was roughly dragged out of his hiding place by the inpatient and utterly merciless Air Commander.

It had looked like Commander Starscream had the situation well in hand at first.  Impervious, he dragging the fuel tanker through the corridors towards the medbay while Octane begged for mercy, his terrified cries marking their journey towards grim fate. But as they made their way closer and closer to Hook’s deranged little playground, the now frantic tanker put his superior weight into play and sent Starscream flying through a rusty bulkhead, screaming things like “please Primus! not Hook, not Hook!” and “you'll never take me alive!”

Octane had transformed into his flight mode and who knew a panicked triple-changer could take such tight corners at such high rates of speed.

Stuck in the bulkhead, Starscream found himself thrust halfway between the central hallway and the large room being used as a mess hall. He could feel the other cons as they started pulling him free (and sneaking as many gropes up his sleek, shapely body as physically possible, seriously, he really needed to ask his trine if this scrap happened to them too every single damned time he couldn’t reach these delinquents to punch them back into submission for the love of-) and at this point, Starscream decided it was time to call in the big guns.

Big gun. Fusion Cannon. The Slagmaker. Bucket Head. Megs. He pinged Megatron the situation and washed his hands of it all. Octane would just have to miss his appointment.

And he probably would, too, as Megatron hadn’t shown up for his regular early morning stroll through their new base this morning. Starscream tried not to imagine why, he didn’t want the resulting dripping from his interface panels giving the idiots pretending they were having trouble freeing him from the wall any ideas. _Wait…did someone just stick their fingers up his…_

Starscream viciously kicked someone, smirked at the yelp of pain, and then started mentally taking down names for later while resuming his screaming tirade regarding the ineptitude of his rescuers.

He seriously doubted Megatron was even going to show his face plates today, possibly not tomorrow either.

For the first time ever in his long career as a Decepticon, Starscream suddenly missed Soundwave. Without the master spy, there was no one recording every single thing that happened at every single moment of every single day, and thus no one to bribe for the footage that didn’t exist of Megatron fragging the ever loving spark out of Optimus Prime last night.

They were all a little disappointed there had been no screaming to be heard, though there was a lot of muttered speech that he couldn’t make out no matter how hard he tried to position his audials against the entrance to Megatron’s quarters.

…after he had sent everyone else pressed up against the door away, threatening to throw them all in the makeshift brig for daring to spy on their great leader, of course. Again, appearances must be maintained.

 _Ah well,_ he thought. At least he could count on lounging on the throne in Megatron’s throne room for the rest of the day without interruption.

Maybe he would even bring the Slagmaker some coolant later, so glorious leader didn’t accidentally drain himself dry while filling every single port Optimus Prime possessed.

 

* * *

 

Thus Megatron started his day by dragging Octane to his appointment with Hook by one leg after chasing him through the hallways along with the two remaining members of the command trine.

Apparently Starscream was having trouble getting himself out of the bulkhead Octane had put him through.

Megatron made a mental note to mock him about it later.

He then spent the next few hours threatening Hook with burning death via fusion cannon during a routine surgery on Octane to correct a serious malfunction to his targeting scanners.

It ended up being a good thing as Megatron was the only one who could oversee something so technical as a recalibration, and be able to recognize when the Constructicon’s attention span was starting to wander, resulting in him pushing random settings in Octane’s internal calibrators. Megatron had diligently guided the miserable glitch back to the land of the competent by way of booming threats and the occasion correcting backhand.

He was getting a lot of practice with his five-across–the-optics. Also useful when Starscream forgot himself and got caught sitting in Leader’s Throne with his thrusters dangling lazily over the arm rest.

No. He was _not_ spending all day in his quarters Starscream, why do you ask?

He had also ordered and organized scouting parties, berated Starscream for losing the Autobot medic, mocked Starscream for taking an entire breem to escape a pathetic bulkhead, threatened to punch Starscream into next week when he asked how the vibrator had performed, threatened to punch the whole room into oblivion when his underlings kept begging for details, something, anything!

He had also asked for an update on Soundwave’s condition, which his cassettes had provided with downcast face plates and muzzles. Still unconscious. Still lost in a lucid dream brought on by unspeakable tortures inflicted by the Quintessons, as they tried to understand how his telepathy worked in the hopes of harnessing it. Still being defended fanatically by his beloved menagerie, to the point that even Hook had stopped trying to approach the dark, quiet corner of the medbay that belonged to the blue spy.

So in other words, no change.

Megatron himself was mostly responsible for Soundwave’s survival (up to the point of the prison ships anyway. Prime had been the one that kept the catatonic Soundwave alive during their journey as he had been in the same cell as the Autobot Leader). He had personally rescued his communications officer from the Quintesson science lab and then continued to protect him from being scavenged for parts, even though it appeared the loyalist would never reemerge from his coma.

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about copies of last night’s utter disaster making the rounds among the troops then. The last thing he wanted was footage of him cleaning Prime and then just…cuddling him all night... getting around. Ferociously overloading him into every wall in his quarters while Prime squirmed and pleaded for mercy? All well and fine.

 _Cuddling?_ ...absolutely not.

Thankfully everyone had simply assumed the obvious, that Prime was just too dignified to scream like a little pleasure drone, and his dominance remained unquestioned.

Next he had round tabled with Starscream and his trine, Onslaught, Motormaster, and several others who could be tactically useful regarding their situation with the Unicronians. The Sweeps have started sniffing around, and several Decepticon patrols had been ambushed. They have been doing everything they could to separate out individual Deceptions to drag away.

So far Megatron’s changes to procedure (yes, they were Starscream’s brilliant ideas, but he would never give the capricious jet any credit, for it encouraged his rebellious streak) have kept everyone still alive out of their clutches, but there have been several near misses.

He then reclined on his throne and took audiences and requests for the rest of his shift, fulfilling his duties right down to the minute.

Afterwards he slowly strode through his base, the very picture of a lord and master in his domain, simply heading back to his quarters for the evening after being satisfied with a full day’s work.

Starscream met him in the hall outside his quarters with some coolant. He stopped short and loomed down over the seeker for a long, menacing moment. Then he let a tiny smile creep up his lips, took the offering, and confidently strode back into his quarters.

He didn’t miss the smirk that crossed Starscream’s face, or misunderstand the speculative look of longing on his Air Commander’s face as he considered following after his leader.

The cheeky glitch.

Prime was still asleep when he walked back into his abode.

 

* * *

 

Optimus had slept through the entire day’s reprieve, regretfully. The last thing he remembered was being sedated. Now he faced spending all evening with his captor, and he was far from thrilled.

They ended up having another fight within a breem of the warbuild waking him.

It happened after Megatron had come back to his quarters in the evening, after being gone the entire day tending to the duties of his station. It was a very one-sided bout that Megatron quickly won, which was no surprise to either of them.

He really was a wreck.

It began when Megatron insisted on hand feeding him some energon again, even though his hands were a little steadier today. Well, tonight. He was surprised he had slept so long. He would have been suspicious that Megatron was lying except he could feel the temperature dropping rapidly, even though he could not see the outdoors from Megatron’s quarters.

Optimus had tried to argue as Megatron approached him with the cubes, insisting he could feed himself.

His energon levels _were_ dreadfully low and his hands and body were still shaking, but he was not some terminal patient that needed coddling. There was a strange heat growing within him though, sickly, twisting through his protoform. But he pushed concerns about that aside as not something he could do anything about. He absolutely wasn’t going to mention it to Megatron and open himself up to more humiliating probing.

Nor could he do anything about the coding that continued to punish him brutally for his efforts to resist until he finally gave in and humbled himself to be hand fed.

Megatron had held his chin in one hand and tipped his head back as he carefully poured the liquid warmth down Optimus’ intakes, filling his tanks. He stared confidently into Prime’s optics while he did so, seeming to enjoy what he saw there until Optimus broke first, looking away.

Humiliating, but… he had suffered far worse.

A full night’s recharge had done him some good physically, though he felt like he could recharge for weeks straight if allowed. His consciousness was still seared with pain, but the sedative had let him recharge through that as well. When it had finally worn off only his low energy levels and demanding self-repair sub-routines had kept him in recharge, and the darkness had been a mercy. Unfortunately upon waking the pain had roared straight back into his aching mind.

Megatron had stepped back, discarding the empty cubes and studied him intently. Clearly he was planning something, probably more humiliation.

No, make that _definitely_ more humiliation.

He suddenly walked away, leaving Optimus alone with his dread for a moment as he disappeared into the shower. A few moments later he returned with some medical cream which he had apparently applied to Optimus’ valve the evening before. He then told him it would need to be reapplied tonight.

Optimus had blinked down at his closed panel. He hadn’t checked himself since waking, though he could tell the foreign metal had been removed from his body. His valve was still tight with painful spasms, but it was no longer eclipsing all other pains.

Medical cream.

 _Fine_.

Hopefully Megatron would let him apply it in the shower, alone, and not insist on watching him. There could be no enjoyment in any of this for him, not in the helpless state he was in, not in this situation, and most certainly not with the company he was keeping. He had taken a step forward to take the tube from Megatron, except the warlord had not relinquished his hold on the medication, and instead just smiled at him playfully.

The hope for a cession in humiliation promptly vanished. Hence the fight.

It ended quickly, with Optimus flat on his back in intense mental pain with a heavy warbuild wrapped around him, holding him down. Megatron’s fields flaring excitement, plating running hot, and strong engine vibrating his frame had told him how much wrestling around with Prime aroused him.

He winced as he was lifted, and then settled onto his back on the berth. Megatron set about arranging and spreading his thighs to allow for full access. Then Megatron sat back for a moment, and was obviously considering binding Optimus down.

“That won’t be necessary,” Optimus grated out. “I … will not fight you. Just get this … this farce over with.”

He just really, really didn’t want to be tied down again. It wasn’t worth the fight when he knew he couldn’t hope to win, especially since being bound brought his mind to far darker places then this berth. And the truth was… things could be much, much worse than the petty domination games his adversary insisted on playing with him. He still didn’t understand why Megatron hadn’t just fragged him into stasis yet. He was obviously missing something, some angle he couldn’t make out yet.

Megatron ignored him, but thankfully seemed to agree that Optimus wasn’t going to be a large enough problem to bother tying down. He instead began sliding in between his captive’s thighs, looking far too pleased with himself. He paused a moment to admire his captive's valve; the metal was lovely with perfectly shaped folds and soft blue bio lights that were only barely glowing.

Megatron made a thoughtful rumbling sound, and then smeared the cool cream onto his fingers and reached out to apply it to the warm outer metal.

Optimus huffed softly as he felt the heavy fingers touch him. The servos were warm and they felt him carefully, tracing the full length of his sensitive slit and then begin to stroke his most intimate metal, exploring and leaving moist, soothing warmth in their wake. He swallowed and barely kept himself from squirming against the light touches. Never in his long life had he ever imagined something like this happening. Resting his head to the side, he shuttered his optics and prepared to endure this violation in silence. His protests had accomplished nothing more than spur his captor on, and he was tired of it all.

Optimus focused on ventilating as the gentle strokes smeared soothing unguent over incredibly sore areas.

“You were too swollen to really look over last night,” Megatron informed him in a conversational tone, as though they were chatting about the weather or perhaps some curious tidbit of mutual interest.

Megatron thoroughly worked the cream in as he spoke, moving his thumbs in little circles. "I don't understand what Galvatron was intending, damaging you like this." He worked the soft mesh, fingers dipping into the pleats and just under the mesh folds. "Such a beautiful shape," he murmured in appreciation. Even better that it was all his now, no doubt.

Optimus swallowed thickly and winced when thick fingers gently spread his valve open.

Megatron made a pleased sound. “Yes, this will do nicely,” he murmured to himself. He worked in silence for a time, carefully entering the sore internal passage with one finger and generously lathering the sides. After a bit of this, he dipped his head down seemingly for a closer look, and his warm exhales from hot vents swirled over his captive’s sensitive places.

The wincing eased a bit as the cream infused and soothed. Quiet sounds of moisture-slicked metal mesh being stroked and manipulated drifted up to Optimus from down below, and this went on for a time. He began to relax under the consistently gentle, thoughtful touches as the pain eased from his brutalized mesh and he felt himself start to drift away as nothing distractedly painful happened.

Then Optimus invented sharply, and began to squirm.

And squirmed again.

“I thought you said this was medication,” Prime confronted the silver mech working intently between his thighs.

“It is,” Megatron raised his head and asked cheerfully, “Why do you ask?”

“Because, you... _glitch_ , I have never been in any medical bay were they apply medication with their intakes," Optimus hissed, his voice steadily rising in volume until the last few words were snarled out.

Then he arched up, back leaving the berth entirely and shuddered.

***

 

Megatron rumbled out a laugh, delighted, and then licked his lips to moisten them for another go. “Clearly you have been to all the wrong medical bays,” he teased, preparing to return to task. “Also, I finished a little while ago.”

“Now if you will excuse me, Prime, I am very busy.”

He tilted his head to the side with a smirk, and very, very carefully returned his attention to Prime’s anterior node (there was no way he could work on any deeper nodes yet, everything was still too sore and swollen inside. He had checked).

Megatron knew he was pushing this too fast. Prime really was seriously injured, but he was being very careful to stick to stimulating the outer metal. The swelling on the outside of the valve had dropped quite a bit, to the point that the size and shape of Prime’s entrance was almost back to normal at least. It was just heavily discolored from the protoform-deep level of bruising.

He gently mouthed over the outer folds for a moment, letting Prime get used to his touch. The medication was a faint tang on his tongue, mostly absorbed and gone, but what he could taste was not unpleasant. Then he worked his soft glossa only a little deeper, underneath the outer folds, manipulating the soft metal mesh pleasingly and then came back up, intending to ask Prime if he should continue. Not that he was going to stop, of course… but really he wanted to see Prime’s face plates, his expression.

Prime was going to need an overload soon anyway, within a day or so at least. The coding would require it. It was one of the many reasons he didn’t feel bad about forcing himself on Prime. The sooner they mapped out this part of their new relationship the better. He had never intended Prime to go so long without an overload. He had promised to be generous, after all.

Fortunately, as far as he was concerned, it was impossible to not enjoy a good valve session, so long as the lapping strokes were gentle, the mech providing them was skilled, and the metal being serviced was well lubricated.

He glanced down at his captive’s face, and then abruptly his frown was back. Prime’s lip plates were twisted in furious pain. With one final jerk, he fell back to the berth, clearly knocked into stasis.

Apparently the coding really didn’t like it when Prime yelled at his master. No doubt the Prime had imagined harming him. The coding seemed to respond very strongly to those thoughts. The mentally controlling attacks were becoming stronger as the coding sank ever deeper into Prime’s mind.

 _I can see this is going to be a problem,_ Megatron thought and he grudgingly released his hold on his unconscious captive.

With a disappointed sigh, he wiped his mouth and grudgingly arranged Prime’s body into a recharging position. He sat back, resolving himself that he was going to spend yet another night without properly overloading either of them.

He considered taking his frustration out on Starscream tonight (who would enjoy it) but then he would have to explain why he wasn’t satisfying himself with Prime (which Starscream would also enjoy). He couldn’t give the jet the satisfaction of watching him go without.

_How very irritating._

He had been delighted when Prime had first dropped into his servos. But the slave coding seemed determined to destroy the very thing that Megatron enjoyed most about his old enemy. And regretfully, it seemed there was nothing he could do about that.

 


	9. Mental Obstructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Optimus is convinced Megatron is trying to terrorize him. Megatron is convinced Optimus needs to calm down and accept the damned overload already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Harassment, non-con sticky sex.
> 
> Note: Next chapter is a smut chapter. Starscream/Megatron/Optimus as promised. Sad ending is complete, and I am currently digging a shelter in my backyard to hide from the fallout.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments guys, I really appreciate it. :)

Without so much as an audio file, book file, report, or vid screen to distract him after Prime knocked himself unconscious, Megatron spent the rest of the evening doing the same thing he had done every night before the distraction called Optimus Prime dropped into his lap.

Namely: settle down in a chair and lose himself in thought.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself mulling over his situation with Prime. It seemed so straight forward that first night when he was basking in gleeful victory: Prime was defeated, Prime was his now, Prime needed overloads, Prime needed _him_ to provide those overloads, and Megatron was happy to be of service. Rubbing Prime’s ever-so-dignified face plates into it had been _so_ delightful.

Unfortunately their situation was far more complicated than he'd first thought. Now that he had some time to think, reality was rearing its ugly head, as it always did. Apparently the slave coding was far more malignant and overpowering then he'd thought. It was harming Prime so deeply that he was concerned eventually all that would be left of his old adversary was an empty shell.

He had no interest in a mindless slave drone. He didn’t blame Prime for trying to fight him, not at all. He enjoyed it. But Prime needed to admit defeat now and learn to properly submit to his new leader. Once he stopped fighting Megatron’s control, hopefully the coding would calm its attacks on his mind. He was unsure how to force Prime to submit though, as every time he tried his captive simply went unconscious from the pain of the assailing coding.

Even worse were the practical concerns; Megatron hadn’t survived this long by being thoughtless and wasteful. He couldn’t keep Prime locked away in his quarters forever, as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t afford the luxury of a mere berth warmer, not here, not in this empty, miserable hellhole.

It seemed the Unicronians were gearing up to challenge his dominion over his territory, and he was going to need control of Prime’s fighting abilities once he recovered. They would need everyone fighting to defend their new home, especially since Galvatron could increase his forces using Decepticon dead.

Galvatron had a serious tactical advantage over Megatron, who had far fewer troops and no reinforcements. _And my only physician is rapidly descending into madness,_ he thought angrily. _We really needed that Autobot medic._

No, there was no denying it. He was at a serious disadvantage. Everyone needed to pull their own weight, lest they all end up Galvatron’s drones. Prime was an exceptionally skilled fighter and has every reason to fight alongside the Decepticons against Galvatron. That meant that he needed to be a close subordinate, not a mere frag toy. Which in turn meant shelving some of his more ... violent ... fantasies regarding his captive.

Unfortunately.

As the hours passed, Prime’s tight face plates eased from stasis into something resembling a natural recharge. Frustrated with being unable to amuse himself with the only thing he was really interested in playing with, Megatron finally went to join Prime in recharge.

He took a moment to slip two fingers gently back into Prime’s mouth first, leaning over him.

“Strange,” he murmured to the recharging mech as he removed his fingers. “Your oral metal is too hot, but your protoform feels too cold.” He'd noticed the odd contrast earlier when he had checked Prime while he was awake.

The air of injured dignity Prime brought to bear on Megatron had been most fetching. It was not like he had any sort of medical implements he could use other than his fingers, anyway. Everything the Decepticons had to work with they'd made themselves out of the pieces of this scrapyard of a ship, or what they'd carried here in their subspaces. He truly had nothing better to offer his captive then his own hands (not that he was complaining). He really was enjoying their interactions, even as frustrating as they kept ending.

He would have his way, eventually.

The sickly malaise continued to creep through the Prime’s frame, and it seemed to be getting worse. It may be related to Prime’s growing need for him, for his attentions and his body, which Prime seemed intent on stalling as long as possible, to his own detriment.

Megatron wrapped himself around his captive and worked himself into a comfortable hold. He had no desire to take an unconscious frame, but if he couldn’t get Prime to properly yield to him within the next day or so, he would have to resort to it.

 

* * *

 

Optimus Prime woke to Megatron standing over him again, shaking him awake. It was evening again… another day lost, apparently.

Megatron stepped away after waking him, allowing him to reluctantly pull himself up and off the berth. Not for the first time he found himself wondering why Megatron allowed him to sleep for several nights in what was obviously his personal berth, and was curious where the warbuild has been recharging. He didn’t see any other rooms or berth in Megatron’s quarters. It seemed unlikely that Megatron would recharge on the ground.

Looking around the spartan quarters, Optimus soon spotted two energon cubes lying out. He glanced at them and back at Megatron, who was sitting at the small table on the upper level watching him intently.

The warlord nodded at him. _They are for you._

He walked towards them, feeling unsteady on his feet. The strange fever in his body felt worse today. It was strangely familiar; he had felt it off and on during his captivity with the Unicronians. His situation had been so much worse with Galvatron that he couldn’t worry about it at the time. But now he was famished. His fuel tanks ached with need, and he was relieved when it seemed Megatron was going to let him fuel himself.

To his complete dismay, however, Optimus spilled some of the first cube when he couldn’t keep a proper grip on it. His mind continued to throb dreadfully and he faltered on his pedes.

Optimus heard the Slagmaker get up and walk over at a leisured pace. Then he underwent another feeding, this time with his back tucked snug against Megatron's body. With his head resting back against a silver chest plate and a hand wrapped around and supporting his throat, he didn’t bother to resist at all. He was too feverish and exhausted. He just swallowed and swallowed the nourishing fluid with closed optics. It was a dreadfully weak grade, but he was ravenous. His self-repair systems were draining him dry, and the replenishing fuel tasted wonderful.

First one cube, and then the next flowed sweet over his glossa and down his throat, filling his tanks with warmth.

Then he was guided back into a chair and Megatron promptly insisted on putting his fingers back in Optimus’ mouth. Supposedly to check his temperature again. He endured the oral poking, prodding, and stroking with as much quiet dignity as he could manage while Megatron’s fields thrummed in a strange mix of concern and anticipation.

There was no question in Optimus' mind that these little games were the beginnings of an assault. He could feel it in the growing arousal in Megatron’s fields and in the lingering way he was being touched. Probing fingers that slowly slid under and rubbed around his glossa did so in intimate strokes, though Megatron seemed displeased with what he found and finally removed his servos.

It was also very clear when Megatron stepped away from Optimus while absentmindedly licking clean the few drops of his captive’s oral lubricant on his black fingers, as if enjoying the taste. He wondered how long it would be before he was bound back down, being beaten senseless. Power corrupted, and Megatron  had full control over his frame.

It was frightening.

He had no idea what Megatron was planning tonight, and he was dreading whatever was coming. He shuttered his optics in pain as yet again the code corrected him. _Slaves do not reject their masters,_ the coding whispered as it punished him for the thought. But he was not going to just submit to this bullying, and he dared to say as much.

Megatron just chuckled at him. “You make a terrible Decepticon, you know that? You are far too uptight about base functions.”

Optimus didn’t dignify that with an answer, and at least Megatron didn't seem offended. That was fortunate, as Optimus could hardly put up any sort of fight, though he intended to try. He had no intention of just laying down and letting Megatron brutalize him without some sort of struggle, slave code or not.

Yet for all Optimus' resolve, when he tried to put thought into action, he faltered. While trying to take a combat stance to confront his tormentor, he grew alarmed to find he couldn’t for the coding. The punishment seemed even more intense then before, and so he did the only other thing he could do and started to edge away.

He glowered at Megatron's self-satisfied, feral grin as the warbuild followed after him, seeming intent on keeping their electromagnetic fields mingling. Optimus tucked his fields as close to his body as possible, but Megatron responded by extending his and simply closing the distance between them.

...

Megatron tried to avoid giving any unnecessary commands to Prime.

Watching Prime shudder in pain and collapse over everything he said was really getting irritating. It was like watching Prime beat himself against a wall over and over again - for absolutely no reason at all - and it ended up ruining the night’s entertainment for them both.

Instead, Megatron stalked predatorily after a retreating Prime. He relentlessly followed his captive around the room, herding him towards the corners. He was going to succeed this time.

 _Perhaps Prime’s internals are healed enough to take my spike now,_ he hoped. Otherwise he was going to be providing his captive a valve overload with his fingers. That could still be amusing enough for tonight, but he would vastly prefer to use his spike.

Stepping around and into the way, the look on Prime's face ... that nervous edge of desperation as Prime side-eyed his aggressive approach ... warmed his interface panel and his spike was already pressurizing in anticipation for the coming play.

He knew from his earlier handling of Prime that the metal near Prime’s processors was burning hot now, while the rest of him was shaking in cold.

... Prime needed his master.

...

 "Enough games, Prime. Come here. I have what you need."

The last was spoken with a predator's smirk, and Optimus didn’t like the look on Megatron’s face when he was finally ordered to submit. Then Megatron ordered him to bare his interface ports and started guiding him back to the large berth.

Optimus was forced to walk towards the flat surface with his old enemy only a step behind him. He was exposed, cold air wafting over his sore, intimate ports. It was a reminder that this would amount to nothing short of torture for him and more than anything, he wanted to fight it. But it was the exact wrong thing to think and for his defiance there was more pain ... _must obey master,_ the coding whispered.

The punishment was endless.

Then Megatron ran a palm down his back plating in a long, intimate stroke.

Optimus whirled around to face his tormentor. The next few dreadful moments were spent on his knees at Megatron's pedes as the coding amped up the punishment. _You are such a terrible slave. Shouldn’t fight master like that._

Optimus could feel Megatron looming over him. “This makes no sense,” he finally choked out. “I can’t think. What is the point of destroying my mind? Why not just construct a drone if you wish a mindless body?”

He has been given an order and a hot pain throbbed behind his optics. It was getting worse and worse the longer he disobeyed. Still he fought it. He was shaking uncontrollably. Then he felt a hand touch his helm, sliding down an audial to trace along his neck cables.

“From my understanding, the slave coding was originally meant to be installed on newsparks. The mental aspect of it was designed to guide the intellectual development of an infantile mind into a willing and compliant slave.”

“Forced on a much older mech," Megatron continued, "It was a punishment generally ending in mindlessness or death. It was routinely used on warriors that fled battle or showed cowardice on the battlefield.”

 _So that was what Galvatron meant when he said he was being forced to use the coding on me,_ and Optimus felt a sudden burst of anger in counterpoint to his pain.

“I did neither of those things,” Optimus gasped, and it was true.

He'd fought Galvatron with everything he was; Autobot lives had been on the line. Galvatron had shot him and several of the others with some sort of energy-draining device early on during the attack. He felt another burst of fury. Why had Galvatron not simply killed him, ending his life with honor? It was true that he'd collapsed during the long and brutal battle, but only after his fuel lines had run dry. That was not cowardice!

This fate was far worse than death.

From his position on the ground, Optimus could see Megatron was watching him fight a war with his own mind. But still his enemy refused to back off. He imagined Megatron was enjoying watching the coding tear him to pieces. Megatron seemed to delight in touching him in any way he could ... trying to engage him and make him react. He felt a deep fear winding through his spark, intermingling with his pain and anger. He didn’t have the clarity of mind to work through what was happening to him, nor the control over his own body to save himself.

Finally Megatron ordered Optimus to the berth again with more of his snide, withering commentary. Clearly Prime needed his master. Prime was being too sensitive. If Prime would relax he would enjoy it. Yes, he was enjoying this! Had he ever denied it? For what did it matter that he relished the thought of Prime writhing beneath him, if Prime received what he needed from their exchange?

“It matters,” Optimus assured him as he stumbled toward the berth.

 _It matters that you are enjoying my suffering,_ he thought with a harshness borne of desperation. He couldn't see a way of out this. It frightened him that he couldn't defend himself. It frustrated him that Megatron refused to even listen to his arguments. _Slaves don’t argue with their masters,_ the coding whispered as it lashed him again and again for his struggles.

“Such an Autobot,” Megatron admonished, rubbing his captive’s back strut as they walked.

“I _am_ an Autobot.” Optimus gasped back, eyes shuttered to slits and optic fluid gleamed in the corners, but solely from pain. _You must stop fighting your master._ _You are such a bad slave._ Mentally fighting his tormentor cost him dearly every single time. The corners of his vision were starting to go white. _Submit, submit._

At this point Megatron’s fields were dripping lust and Optimus wanted him to stay far, far away.

It was a desire Megatron had no intention of honoring. “Tell me something Prime. Why is a simple fragging so complicated for Autobots? You are defeated. I have won. After all,” he said while leaning in close, “You and I both know this is mine now.” Then he reached out with his hand, circled around to Prime’s front and gently cupped his aching valve, the middle finger nestling between the folds and against the tightly clenched slit itself.

The intimacy of that touch was both shock and dire confirmation.

Megatron _was_ going to inflict this on him, with no quarter, and Optimus started to turn, intending to punch that smirking face right though a bulkhead. And once again the coding bent to punish him. It lashed out at his treacherous thoughts, and he dropped yet again to his knees in agony before his worst enemy ... _must not disobey master._

It was the final straw.

Optimus was no soft newspark, mewling in pain and trying not to think. He was an old soldier, millions of years of combat under his hood and set in his ways. He bit down on all of his deep pain, holding it in a burning clench even as fresh agony exploded behind his optics, and he charged. The coding tried to cut off access to his limbs to keep him from killing his master, but the competing agony, fury, and feverish electromagnetic charge drowned out its attempts.

And that had been Galvatron’s mistake.

Pain that would be enough to kill a newspark or a softer mech fell just short of killing the Prime. In that white hot place there was just enough space to move that an old soldier might, if relying on millions of years of instinct, tear his wretched master’s head clean off his body.

He smashed into Megatron like a freight train and they both hit the floor in a tangle and Prime went for Megatron’s throat plating.

Unfortunately, Megatron was also an old soldier, and the only one that had the strength for an actual fight. Long accustomed to sudden attacks from Optimus Prime and intimately familiar with his fighting style, Megatron quickly wrestled him into submission.

And then Optimus lost his grip and the coding caught up to him. No words could describe the aftermath as the coding made damn sure he understood what he did was unacceptable. Optimus barely noticed as Megatron shifted his weight and wrapped his heavy body around his convulsing slave, keeping Optimus pinned to the floor beneath him as he shuddered helplessly.

Megatron rumbled into a shivering blue audial, “I grow tired of this pointless thrashing, Prime.”

“And I am tired of hurting,” Optimus gasped back, optics clenched shut and dripping fluid at the corners from pain. “If you ever had any respect for me as an adversary, for Primus’ sake offline me. I can’t live like this...” and he meant every word.

Megatron paused for a moment, and his grip on Optimus tightened as he pulled the near-hysterical body close.

“Don’t give up, old enemy,” Megatron murmured into his audial, voice sincere. “I know what pathetic state of mind the slave code results in, and that is not what I want for you. Keep your mind and your will to fight. I have no use for a mindless drone.”

And just like that, the slave coding went silent. He was still a slave. The slave coding would still punish and control him. But the thought control portion of the coding - the part so intent on destroying him as a person - ceased its efforts as his master so desired.

Optimus threw his head back in shock as a mountain of mental pain abruptly receded. His mouth moved in frantic swallows as he tried to process what just happened. The lack of the coding attacking his mind, policing his thoughts, was overwhelming in its absence.

Megatron seemed unaware of the effect his sentiments (perceived by the coding as orders) had on Optimus, and pulled him stumbling back to his feet, dragging him towards the berth. His electromagnetic fields were _pulsing_ with anticipation now.

“Come, this is happening. You need it. Submit to me for once, for your own good. I intend that you find this first interface _most_ memorable.”

Optimus didn’t answer. He suddenly couldn’t find the strength to do much of anything. Mental pain that had been his constant tormentor every moment of every day for weeks was suddenly gone. Now that he wasn’t being relentlessly lashed, his mind relaxed into a relieved slush of easing circuits. He actually felt a body wide surge of gratitude for Megatron … even as his consciousness slipped away.

The last thing he heard as he relaxed into the welcoming dark was Megatron's sudden curse.

 

* * *

 

Optimus woke a little while later to the sounds of running fluid.

He was on his back and freezing cold. His helm felt too hot. He ached all over, but it was a distant pain compared to earlier. It did nothing to break the soft haze of relaxation he was floating in, and he didn’t move or open his eyes. He was too weak and exhausted to move, though he could hear heavy pedes moving around nearby.

 _I’m on the floor in the shower,_ he realized after a time. He was lethargic and could barely think. It took several moments before the sounds of running fluid being shut off filtered through his mental haze. He considered moving, but stopped himself. _If Megatron realizes I am online, he will resume his assault. It may be best to appear to be in stasis._

Assuming he could. He had no idea what fresh hell the Slagmaker was planning for him. Whatever was going to happen, he no longer had the strength to try and defend himself. It was a sombre moment, and to keep calm he focused on his ventilations, on the air circulating in and out.

Finally the heavy pedes made their way over to Optimus, and he heard a deep sigh above him. Then Megatron finally spoke. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You are mine in body and spark, and still you manage to upset my plans every single time.”

Yet to Optimus, Megatron's tone seemed less annoyed then resigned.

 _Then let me go,_ he thought back at his old enemy, well and beyond depressed. _What does my captivity accomplish? Why does it matter to you whether I live or die, when you have what you want?_

_You have won._

Then two strong arms hefted him. He made no attempt to control any of his movements; an easy task for his deep exhaustion. His face brushed Megatron's smooth cheek as his helm fell back, lolling into the space between Megatron's neck and shoulder. Three steps, and the other bent down to one knee and he was gently lowered into the basin, now filled to the brim with steaming hot fluid.

The flooding warmth was a welcome shock.

The steaming fluid gushed soothingly around him, seeping into his seams, flowing up and around his plating. His back settled against the rounded surface, and he felt his head being adjusted on the edge of the basin so as to keep from submerging his vents. The pleasing heat swirled all around him, warming him comfortingly.

It felt so good that he in-vented with a soft gasp, but thankfully his owner didn’t notice.

Then he heard the heavy body next to him settle down onto his aft plating. He heard Megatron get comfortable, and then he felt Megatron’s hands on him. They began scrubbing his plating with a soaking rag, working something into his surfaces. A pleasing scent of cleanser wafted over him, and he further relaxed under the working servos, the other working a gentle lather over sore plating.

The scrubbing started around his neck and helm, carefully rubbing the sensitive audials, and then moved down to his chest plates, the servos uncharacteristically mindful of his healing cuts and cracked glass panes.

In the meantime, the fluid worked its way further into him, down to his deeper protoform and warmed the sore metal there. Some of the ache eased. Servos continued their pleasing rubbing down from his chest and arms, onward to his lower abdominals, then to his legs and thighs, and finally his pedes.

The sound of mild splashing was calming, and the lap of hot fluid around his neck and the tips of his pedes a pleasant caress.

Then the servos lifted as the scrubbing finished and the rag was set aside. He felt the two strong arms return to slide under his own as he was lifted up, and Megatron slid into the basin beneath him.

Settling down, Megatron adjusted Optimus’ head to lie against his shoulder and beneath his neck, angling his body so that his captive’s back was pressed flush against his captor’s front plating. The low rumbling of a heavy, powerful engine gently vibrated Optimus’ frame. Two legs slid between his and parted, spreading his legs wide, and they both slid deeper into the warm fluid.

The fluid had cooled down quite a bit since the soak started, and he heard Megatron turn the flow back on. Hot fluid resumed pouring into the basin, rewarming the liquid to a steaming heat. The hot and cool fluid swirled over his thighs and interface array in a duet of pleasant sensation.

He heard Megatron run a hand under the falling fluid for a few moments, rewarming his servos. Then he felt a hot servo begin to wander over his body. The palm worked its way down his upper plating and began to slide down his body towards his sore interface array.

 _Here it comes,_ Optimus thought. He intended to remain as unresponsive as possible. This strangely pleasant interlude could go bad quickly if Megatron realized he wasn’t lost in stasis.

For the comfort of the bath, he was too lethargic and comfortable to be truly afraid, and then Megatron lifted one of his black pedes out of the basin and propped it up on the edge of the basin, pulling his captive’s interface array up and out of the fluid for easier access.

“Well,” Megatron addressed his seemingly unconscious captive, “Seeing as this is solely for your benefit tonight, did you have a preference?” The tone was relaxed and teasing and dark fingers slid down to Optimus’ array and began to stroke steadily over both his valve and his fully sheathed spike.

Then the fingers slid over the spike sheath and slipped in. A fingertip circled the node-clusters beneath the spike tip as a teasing thumb stroked over the transfluid line. Optimus flinched internally and a twinge of fear woke in him.

_Please, please no._

His spike echoed his sentiment and responded to the gentle tickling by trying to retract even further into its housing.

Megatron rumbled beneath him, and sounded amused. “No, I suppose _you_ wouldn’t be up for any attention tonight, not in your state. Not for a long while, I think.” Then his fingers left Optimus' sheath and slid down to his valve instead. They circled his soft mesh and traced along the dim biolights.

“Fortunately, this one is my preference as well.”

Fingers begin stroking the tender, brutalized mesh, working in gentle circles, manipulating the sore outer folds and pleats carefully. The first traces of lubricant began to appear for the attention. Then Optimus felt himself begin to lubricate in earnest, his inner components warming to the attention.

Megatron’s strokes ripened into smooth glides across his now slick mesh and inner passage. Dipping two of his fingers inside, Megatron settled into a light rhythm, moving in and out in a gentle mimic of penetration, stimulating all of the sensors within reach, teasing and stroking, building a gentle charge.

Careful to tease only the shallowest sensors, Megatron pressed his thumb down gently onto Optimus' pulsing anterior node. He held the pressure for a moment, and then rubbed it with his thumb in light, rhythmic strokes. His other hand stroked down Optimus’ lower abdominals, his palm electromagnetically charged in an energy massage that reached down to Optimus' sore protoform.

Optimus tried to remain completely relaxed, doing his best not to writhe under the attention. Some reaction - even in stasis - was to be expected with this kind of stimulation, however, so Megatron didn't realize the significance of a few extra trembles and shivers.

A slow warmth spread through his array as an electric charge began to build within him. It eclipsed the ache inside as thick, strong fingers slipped in only a little further, slick with lubricants and reaching very carefully for slightly deeper sensors and nodes.

His battered valve rippled of its own accord around the pleasing servos, trying to iris open a little further for the spike it seemed certain was coming. The movements caused little twinges of pain, currently drowned out for the overall pleasure of the light touches. His calipers were eager and reached out to try to clasp at the slick fingers moving within him, to draw the ghost spike in deeper. Megatron rumbled in amusement as he tugged and tickled at one of them, sending prickles of sensation up Optimus' sensor net and making Optimus' hip struts shiver.

Megatron extended his lubricant-slick thick fingers, two in offering. Together they were the equivalent girth of an acceptably-sized spike and he let the calipers clutch him. They cycled down and tried to guide him in deeper as his thumb redoubled its efforts on Optimus' anterior node. He added another finger and then another, charge building and building as the fingers dipped and swirled within him.

The moments melted into each other as the teasing touches and stroking go on and on, a slow languid pleasure that built within him. Megatron seemed unhurried, and slowly, steadily worked the helpless body above him towards overload with an entirely uncharacteristic gentleness.

Finally the pleasurable sensations coalesced into a full charge. Optimus barely strangled back a moan of pain-pleasure as his injured valve clenched around the teasing fingers in a slow, trembling release.

Megatron chuckled at the feel of the valve trembling around his fingers in a very mild overload and then re-adjusted himself. He quickly positioned his fingers back at the entrance, spreading the soft folds wide. Optimus heard a _snick_ of an interface panel being opened and felt a thick presence at the curve of his outer valve folds, the inner components still rippling from his release.

The spike head was hot and the transfluid slit was dripping pre-fluid. The tip pushed in, nestled just past the outer folds and into the passage and he heard fingers pump over the thick spike. A few slick sounds of stroking, and Megatron's engine rumbled as he overloaded into his captive, his tip just nestled inside.

Generous amounts of hot fluid coated his insides in pulses, and he could feel the heat spreading deep inside.

“This is ... far from ... satisfying,” Megatron murmured to himself, sounding a little strained as he finished with a last, hot spurt, “But seeing as you aren’t aware, perhaps this will fool the coding into giving you a few more days.”

 _No it won’t,_ Optimus thought, and his own mind felt distant. But he was awake and so was the coding, and it was obvious that his owner wasn’t satisfied. It was so strange that Megatron was being so… careful about this. Then again, he _was_ making sure Optimus wouldn’t offline so he could continue to use his captive’s body.

There was a sound of splashing fluids as Megatron lifted him out of the bath, and he was laid out back onto the floor for a moment. He heard a further splatter of fluid as the warlord quickly rinsed his spike and drained the basin. Then he lifted Optimus and carried him to berth, arranging him on his side.

Megatron then joined him, wrapping his body around Optimus tightly in an intimate embrace, tucking the exhausted Optimus flush against his hot plating.

 _He's been recharging with me this entire time,_ and Optimus was surprised further as one arm wrapped around his limbs, tucking them snugly against the heavier body as soft vents warmed his neck. The powerful engine behind him purred contentment for the closeness and warmth and began cycling down into recharge. It seemed Megatron was entirely unconcerned for any sort of retaliation.

_You really don’t consider me a threat anymore, do you?_

Optimus felt a keen sense of loss.

Completely exhausted now, Optimus gave up worrying over his situation for the night. There was nothing he could do anyway. He was just starting to drift off to sleep alongside his worst enemy when he felt the arm around his limbs loosen a bit. There was a mild rumble behind him and then surprisingly hot fingers slid down and palmed the space between his legs. He felt thick black fingers reach for and then cup around his still exposed valve. He could feel a heavy thumb tracing the slit and he couldn't help but stiffened a little.

Fortunately, Megatron was too near recharge to notice his reaction. Slowly Optimus relaxed as nothing further happened, and felt a deep sense of relief when Megatron lost himself to recharge.

_That feels good._

Optimus felt guilty for thinking it, because he felt he shouldn’t be enjoying it. But the tingles from the overload, the heated metal hand cupping him and the warm plating behind him combined with the vibration of a healthily purring engine… it was too soothing.

Optimus drifted off into recharge with his worst enemy wrapped around him.

 


	10. Medicinal Hustle (the unrepentant smut chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream figures things out, Megatron starts to confront what he really wants out of his new relationship with Prime, and Megatron and Starscream act like bastards per tag warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-con sticky everything. Pure unadulterated smut. Pretty much every warning tag applies here. Also, this is one of the worst chapter for non-con sex in this story, beyond some coming up in the end chapters (I will put warnings). If not your thing you can skip this chapter without losing too much of the overall plot.

 

Megatron left Prime alone to recharge again the next morning, after first checking him again. Apparently his efforts last night had actually helped. Prime was still feverish, but he wasn’t running as hot as before.

_Hurry up and heal, damn you. I have plans._

He drank his ration of two cubes while frowning at his troublesome recharging captive, leaving two out just in case Prime woke by himself, and then left his quarters to start the day.

His slow, confident steps echoed down the hall as he headed out to conduct his morning inspection of his rust bucket of a base and the homicidal maniacs that made up his standing army.

He decided to call an early meeting after his walk to discuss changing around the patrols. It would be unwise to let the enemy map out patrol routes as it would facilitate ambushes. He was working out personnel rotations, inner corridor patrol schedules, and how he was going to properly overload Prime tonight in his mind as he walked, so he was a bit distracted.

Thus, and unfortunately, Megatron missed the menacing shadow hiding down the hall as it waited until his heavy pede steps faded, and then headed down the private hall towards his quarters.

Fortunately, Starscream didn’t.

 

* * *

 

A sharp burning sting flared from his thigh, jolting Optimus out of recharge instantly.

“What the-"

He leapt up and instinctively swatted whatever had punctured him away, retreating until his back hit the wall at the back of the berth. He pulled in a sharp invent and let it out slowly as he balanced on his haunches. He was still feverish, but he prepared to defend himself from… whatever it was. His hands coiled into fists and he held them out and at the ready.

Someone was standing there all right, holding out a scalpel. The mech was tense, standing hunched over and had a strange, wistful look on his faceplates. Alarming yes, but more disturbing was the now empty syringe rolling across the floor, the same one that Optimus had just swatted away.

He recognized the body shape and dingy green paint job of the hulking mech as one of the Constructicons, recalling the mech's name with some difficulty. “Hook? What are you doing here? Did Megatron send you?”

He followed Hook's unrelentingly wistful gaze, looking down at himself. Then he realized his interface panel was still open from last night. His instantly closed his panels with a _snick_. He scowled back up at Hook, who looked disappointed.

Speaking of Megatron…

Didn’t he mention something about their medic not being mentally fit? That assessment seemed entirely correct as Optimus could tell that the mech standing before him was not alright. What was it with all of the insanity lately? He seemed to be dealing with more than his fair share of crazy.

“Hey. Yes, it’s me.” Hook answered. Attempting to sound reasonable, he straightened out of his predatory crouch a little as he explained, “I am here to examine you, per Lord Megatron’s orders. Lay back down while I check you over. And retract your panel.” He licked his lips while sizing up Optimus’ injuries and took a shivering step forward.

Optimus' optics narrowed as he sized Hook up right back.

He could tell the Constructicon was trying to sound disarming, professional even. The attempt fell flat as he was holding an activated welding scalpel in his right hand, the white hot surface of the delicate medical instrument glowing ominously. Beyond the clear threat, nothing in his demeanor seemed professional. Certainly not the aggressive way he was holding that laser scalpel.

“What did you inject me with?” Optimus demanded.

“The good stuff,” Hook replied, looking irritated, as if the answer should be obvious. “Something that will make you relax. Now ... go lay down.”

“That’s not going to happen, Hook," Optimus said, and his voice hardened into his strongest, most commanding tone. "Now back off, or I will be forced to harm you.”

“You can’t do that. You have the slave coding. You have to obey. Now lay down. I need to… _fix_ you.”

Somewhere in his broken processor, Hook had gotten the notion that slave coding meant you were everybody’s slave. This was not the case, and he figured that out right quick when he lunged at Prime and promptly ate the business end of a heavily armored pede.

Followed up by a fist. And another.

Optimus Prime was starting to maybe, possibly, enjoy himself a little bit as he bounced Hook off the walls. He was hurting, he was feverish, he was tired, but thankfully Megatron hadn’t ordered him not to hurt any of his faction and by Primus he wasn’t taking any slag from this particular Decepticon. It felt good to be able to truly defend himself, for once.

Hook rallied and smashed him in the chest plates, and he stumbled back with a gasp. Fortunately his armor was thick there. He took the hit and gave back twice as good as he got. Then the crazy mech gleefully kneed him right in his aching interface plating.

That was a mistake.

Optimus knocked his legs out from under him in an absolute fury, smashed him against the wall and then sent Hook flying across the room, crashing through the makeshift table and flattening one of the chairs for good measure.

Optimus stumbled back with a wave of vertigo for the quick movements. He really wasn’t in any sort of shape to be scrapping with anyone. He looked down and scowled at the tiny stream of internal fluid dripping down from the seam of his interface panel.

 _Did this happen to anyone else,_ he wondered to himself. He idly traced the line of internal fluid, smearing it with a fingertip and then pulled his fingers away. _Perhaps I should ask someone..._ and a moment later he blinked as he realized his mind was starting to wander.

He was having trouble focusing and the sting in his thigh reminded him of why. Obviously whatever he had been injected with was starting to take effect... and then he suddenly couldn’t focus his optics properly.

 _Not good,_ he thought. _I best make sure Hook is down for the count, before I am._ He had to do it now before he couldn’t anymore. He tried to step forward towards Hook, but already his legs didn’t want to obey. No, this was not good.

Optimus gave no thought to calling for help. He was deep in Decepticon territory and for all he knew, Megatron had actually sent Hook to enjoy himself. He was alone and surrounded by mechs who hated him. It was up to him to defend himself, however best he could.

Forcing himself into a shaky battle stance, Optimus watched as Hook got to his feet and wiped the internal fluid off his lips and chin. The hulking mech started lumbering forward when he realized Optimus was having trouble staying on his pedes. Hook collected his fallen scalpel as he shuffled back toward Optimus, who was glowering back at him, denta gritted, and preparing to fight for his life.

“Hook! What the slag do you think you are doing?”

Optimus instantly recognized _that_ voice, and never in his long life had he thought he would be happy to see Air Commander Starscream. The jet was standing in the entrance to Megatron’s quarters, hands on his hip struts, brilliant red optics narrowed to slits, calmly taking in the situation.

“He injected me with something.” Optimus called out as he fell to his knees. “I don’t know what.”

“Oh, but I do,” and Starscream grinned at Hook. It was far from a pleasant expression. Then the Air Commander strode forward, even as the Constructicon fell back.

“Not still mad, are you?” Hook asked Starscream. He tilted his scalpel nervously, though it was clear from the way he was holding it that he wasn't even considering using it against Starscream.

 _Mad about what?_... and the thought wandered in twisting circles through his processor as Optimus slipped into a strange, half-awake, half-dreaming state. _Oh, look at the pretty wings. Those are nice._

There was a clanging sound as Optimus' back hit the floor.

“Oh, Hook. I don’t get mad,” Starscream replied with a flick of his wings and a sneer. “I get _even_.”

Hook had just enough sense left to bolt for the door, but Starscream caught him halfway ... and he did get even. From his position on the floor, Optimus Prime smiled and then relaxed completely.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't even past the morning cycle when Megatron received a ping from Starscream.

It was a snarky communique, requesting his presence regarding yet another incident with Hook. After a wry demand for clarification, Megatron was furious to learn where said incident had taken place, and with whom. He was further irritated to see the crowd of excited Decepticons roaming freely around inside his private chambers when he arrived.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) Megatron had no possessions to be worried about beyond the Autobot lying prone on the floor, randomly looking around at the pandemonium with a glazed, half-interested expression. Prime was fine, though clearly drugged. He was returning the curious gazes he was receiving from the group of gawkers standing all around him. His soldiers were clearly taking advantage of the situation to satisfy their prying curiosity.

 _No one dare touch him_ , and Megatron noted that with satisfaction. Thankfully most of the delinquent glitches that made up the tattered remnants of his legacy had the common sense _Primus gave gravel_ not to touch his personal things. Thing. Prime.

“Starscream...” and Megatron's deceptively mild tone immediately had mechs edging towards the door. The smart ones, at least. That wasn’t most of them, unfortunately. “Why is there a crowd in my quarters?”

“Lord Megatron,” Starscream greeted him with a standard smirk, seemingly unaffected by his Leader’s growing ire. “Apparently Hook had a pang of medical concern for your new berth warmer,” and here he flicked a wing at Prime for emphasis, “and our medic here took it upon himself to pay a house call. Fortunately I was in the area and heard the commotion. The crowd I can take no responsibility for. You were the only one I contacted after dealing with Hook.”

Starscream kicked the Constructicon in the side, and smiled in satisfaction when he whined. “He insists that you told him to drug Prime.”

“Really.”

Megatron looked down at the sorry sack of mechanical parts at his pedes and found himself disappointed once again. Hook didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed, or the presence of mind to beg his commanding officer for his life. That was a bad sign, as begging for mercy is a critical life skill for a Decepticon not in the highest echelons of command.

“That’s strange, Starscream. I don’t recall ordering a house call for my guest. Or needing to resort to crudely drugging mechs to get what I want.”

Starscream beamed at him with a certain gleeful malice. "There is that," and then he crossed his arms over his cockpit and sneered down at the Constructicon at his pedes. His optics were bright with anticipation as he said, "I look forward to seeing this _delinquent_ punished for his _many_ transgressions."

Megatron stared coldly at Hook, his optics narrowing as he weighed just how much they needed this mech. At some point the damage he was inflicting on his faction would outweigh the value of his medical skills.

Had that day arrived?

Megatron pondered carefully, weighing all the angles and possibilities and concerns against the Constructicon’s life. Starscream watched him keenly, a small knowing smile on his clever face. Another flick of his sleek white wings served to catch his Leader’s attention, and he made a thumbs down sign at Megatron. His own calculations were finished, and he added the sum of his opinion under the _kill the slagger now_ column. 

Starscream might be a bit biased, though.

Just a bit.

For his part, Hook didn’t seem to understand that his life hung by the barest thread between his two commanders. He kept trying to get to his feet, optics still focused on the prone form of Prime, and Starscream kept vindictively kicking his pedes out from beneath him. Lost in his calculations, Megatron didn’t notice the chatter in the background, accustomed as he was to tuning out inane conversation.

“Hey, can you open your interface panel?” Skywarp asked Prime.

Thundercracker, standing off to the side, frowned at his trine mate.

“No?” Prime seemed confused.

“You can’t or you won’t?” Astrotrain asked, staring down at said panel with keen interest. He was watching the little trickle of internal fluid as it leaked from Prime’s intimate seams.

Prime seemed to ponder that a moment. “…No.”

“But,” and Skywarp leaned in close to whisper, “Lord Megatron says you have to.”

Skywarp nodded at Prime, slow and serious, and behind him, Thundercracker’s frown deepened into a scowl.

Prime frowned at this and mumbled something to himself, then his panel clicked open. There was dead silence from the peanut gallery for a long, full moment as everyone leaned in to get a good look.

Someone whistled.

“Damn.” That was Onslaught. (He had been one of the few that had headed for the door, but snuck back in) “Remind me not to torque off the boss.”

“Wrecked!” and Skywarp was beside himself with mirth.

Astrotrain and Motormaster high-fived each other. Fist bumps all around. Thundercracker turned and left the room. Someone slipped Swindle some money. Skywarp asked if anyone had a camera. There were frantic motions as everyone started wildly sifting through their subspaces.

“I’d still hit it.” Vortex. And of course he would. Glitch hadn’t seen a valve in vorns. Decepticons eyed each other knowingly. Prime’s valve _was_ rather alluring, though. There was a murmur of agreement on that.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Prime had heard Vortex and finally worked out what he meant, kind of.

The group of ‘cons exploded into laughter. Motormaster jokingly mimed a punch at Prime’s valve just as Octane staggered into him, doubled over in muffled hysterics. The fake punch actually connected, though no harder than a little tap. The soft sound of a lightly slapped valve penetrated past the clustered circle of mechs, Prime yelped, and Megatron finally noticed.

At the sound of a charging fusion cannon everyone and a bunch of cassettes all exploded for the exit in the same instant. Jets transformed and made it there first, Motormaster tripped Onslaught and the entire mass of grounders tried to fit through the door all at once in a single thrashing bulk of fleeing mechanicals.

After rolling his optics, Starscream grabbed Astrotrain before he could escape. He ordered Astrotrain to take Hook back to the medbay and tie him to something good and tight for now.

Megatron had pardoned Hook, at least for the moment.

Beatings were authorized if the glitch tried to put up a fight. _Wink wink, flick flick._ Yeah, yeah, Starscream, no worries. Astrotrain’s got you covered. And then the room emptied out ...

... leaving Starscream and Megatron alone with a very drugged and compliant Optimus Prime.

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t do this.”

Starscream was standing over Optimus Prime with his hands on his hips, now balled into fists. He was smiling down at the completely relaxed Autobot while taking his measure of the bared interface array.

“I have been on the receiving end of your spike in punishment, and I know what a hard frag looks like. This is way beyond anything _you_ would dish out.” His tone booked no argument. Prime's injuries were nothing short of sexual torture, and Megatron simply wasn't that damned evil.

_He knew._

Megatron sighed.

Pinching at his nasal sensor, Megatron walked over to Prime, who was busy staring up at Starscream’s wings from his position on the ground. The ailerons were flexing back and forth in hypnotic, playful rhythms, and Prime had the calmest expression on his face plates ... even as his optics struggled to track Starscream's flitting wings. His EM fields were completely extended and at peace.

Optimus Prime had left the building, but his frame remained. His open interface panel was forgotten and not of the slightest concern to him. He lifted a leg in confusion for a moment, and the movement opened his valve a tiny bit and more fluid trickled out. He relaxed his leg back down to the ground and stared off into space for a moment, and then his eyes settled back on bright white wings.

A heavy black pede came to rest near the left side his head, and then the other along the right side. “Hello, Prime.” Megatron was looking down at his captive - still flat on his back on the floor - as he towered over him.

Prime blinked for far too long after being addressed, processors struggling to function. He slowly tore his optics away from Starscream to follow up the sleek lines of sliver legs, up the black pelvic span, over strong chest plates to finally arrive at the silver face with glowing red optics that was peering back down at him.

Then Prime _smiled._

Megatron swallowed suddenly, fingers curling. He smiled back, and the expression was … something it shouldn’t be.

Starscream watched the exchange with veiled eyes. His lips quirked, and then he seemed to reach a decision, fingers clenching just slightly. Megatron missed the critical moment, too busy kneeling down to stroke a blue audial. Prime actually leaned into the touch.

“He will be fine. Hook gave him a huge dose though, so it’s unlikely he is going to remember any of this,” and Starscream frowned. “Have you even interfaced with him yet? He looks like complete slag.”

“Yes.” Megatron continued to stroke the audial. “But only barely. And before you ask, his spike is no better, I did check. Some sort of plasma burns over the entire surface plating, including inside the sheath. There is no working him to overload with it; he will have to be left to heal. His injuries are obscene.”

“I can see that,” and Starscream smirked as he watched Prime lean to kiss at black fingers. “Don’t let Vortex know this is what passes for Unicronian foreplay. He would be sure to defect.”

Megatron grunted agreement.

Then Starscream knelt down and ran his servos over Prime's relaxed frame. He felt under the seams with nimble fingers and pinching at the protoform beneath. Then he dipped one of his fingers into Prime’s mouth, testing his temperature. “His cerebral components are running hot. The code is probably responsible. You do know it will eventually become lethal the longer you let him go without … thus depriving you of your new toy?”

“Of course I do.” Megatron stroked down Prime’s audial and down further to the chest plating.

Starscream frowned after a moment when Megatron didn’t elaborate. “You have to satisfy yourself with his frame. He needs to overload, see that you are responsible, and see evidence of your satisfaction. It’s been days since we picked him up. Three is the longest he can go without before the coding gets ugly, but has he been fighting you? The duration gets shorter if the slave is willful.”

***

Optimus listened to the two mechs above him as they talked. The sounds of their voices drifted over him, but the meaning of the words escaped him. It was all just a fuzzy blur of confusing sound. Everything seemed so far away and unimportant. There was a voice in his mind though -the slave coding is still active- and it was the only thing that still made sense to him. It kept telling him how handsome the silver mech kneeling above him looked.

 _Master is so beautiful,_ it whispered.

Prime studied the lines of the mech, and had to agree. He reached up and touched the silver mech’s face with curious fingers.

_You should make master happy._

***

“He has been difficult,” Megatron answered.

Megatron's optics narrowed slightly as he allowed Prime to explore his face plating. “The slave coding knocked him off line last night before we could get anywhere. Originally I was just going to throw him up against a wall, but-”

Megatron cut off as Prime pushed his fingers into the Slagmaker’s intakes. Prime's curious optics tracked Megatron's startled expression as he ran his fingers over the soft glossa inside.

Turn about being fair play, Megatron only huffed in amusement and then gently removed the clumsily questing digits. With a sigh, he leaned closer and cupped Prime's chin. “What am I going to do with you, Prime?”

There was no answer other then the curious blue fingers that reached back up towards his owner’s face. “Heh," Megatron chuckled, "So friendly. Not like last night. He was practically hysterical.” He allowed the blue fingers to explore him while he gently rubbed along the soft lip components of his captive with his thumb.

“I would have loved to have seen that,” and Starscream grinned for the thought. “Though I am surprised you didn’t just take him anyway. He is our enemy and he deserves what he gets.”

Starscream was right, as usual.

But something wasn’t sitting right, and Megatron said as much. “I am conflicted,” he finally admitted. There was no point in hiding it, or this part of it, anyway. “I fought and freed slaves and built an empire. I toppled an oppressive rule. I have spent all of my life fighting Autobots and especially Optimus Prime. I expected a final battle, defeating my opponent in combat. Dominating a defeated opponent is the Decepticon way, but I did not truly defeat Prime. He fell into my lap, already a slave. He barely functions. I look forward to enjoying him, but I struggle to enjoy inflicting painful subjugation on one who is already bound into complete subservience. There is no … satisfaction … in it.”

“This is Autobot coding though,” Starscream argued. “This was part of the corrupt ruling establishment that we both tore down. Instead of joining the Decepticons, Prime chose to fight us and defend the corrupt establishment. Now he has been inflicted by the old code that is part of the history of their regime. The irony is delicious. I see no conflict. Why wait? Frag him now and let him suffer.”

Starscream watched him with sharp optics. His fingers remained taunt, clenched.

Megatron frowned down at his captive. It _was_ a desire of his, there was no denying that. The thought of it warmed his interface plating. He _did_ want to furiously dominate the body laying at his pedes in every way imaginable. His mind wandered for a moment as he imagined defeating Prime in battle and taking his adversary, leaving him used and broken and dripping internal fluids from his most intimate places.

Starscream was watching him intently. He knew _that_ expression...

 

_... It had been a good fight, a good war, but Prime lay defeated beneath him now._

_Beaten fully into submission in one last bloody battle, drenched in his own internal fluids, he moaned in utter subjugation._

_It was acknowledgement of his captor’s victory, emphasized with every feeble twitch of his torn and shattered limbs._

_Triumphant, the Slagmaker ripped open those ruined chest plates._

_He discarded the Autobot matrix, dumped carelessly into the growing puddle of its bearer’s internal fluids to stand witness._

_He forced the Prime’s spike from the sheath and slowly crushed it, savoring the long agonized scream and then ripped it out at the root._

_He watched with deep satisfaction as internal fluids gout forth._

_Plead for mercy, he ordered his defeated opponent, and listened to the resulting moans for a cession of violence._

_Then he kissed the broken mouth into silence, biting through the glossa and shredding it._

_He laughed into Prime’s mouth as internal fluid began to fill both their intakes._

_He ravished his fallen enemy then, using his spike as a weapon._

_He filled the mech utterly as he took him dry._

_His brutal thrusts ripped and mangled the metal within and internal fluid flows anew.  
_

_Trickles turned into gushing fountains as he completely destroyed his defeated opponent’s internals._

_He finished as his enemy bled out beneath him, spark guttering out as he was utterly dominated and destroyed..._

 

Megatron tilted his head as he cleared his mind of one of his deepest, darkest fantasies from early on during their long, vicious war.

But there was a key component in that fierce dream, one that he could never fulfill now. Yes, he could take Prime anyway, satisfy himself and leave Prime used, bleeding and broken. He could do this every night for the rest of their lives if he so desired, repaying him for every defeat suffered in their long war. Half of him wanted, even demanded it. Prime had made his life so very difficult for so very long.

But the other half of him wanted something… else. Some other equally arousing desire was at play, something he was entirely unaccustomed to. It was tangled up in the joy he had felt when he pitted himself mentally against the Prime, in the anticipation of a battle long in the planning, in the physical clash of their frames when they finally met in combat, and in the thrill of hard won victories against a worthy rival.

Something was growing within him, and that part of the conflict he could never explain to Starscream. He was certain it would be admitting to weakness, which was tantamount to committing suicide for a Decepticon. Megatron frowned as two deep desires clashed and battled within him. His frown deepened when one of those desires finally dominated the other.

Appearances must be kept.

“I have _you_ if I want a rough frag,” Megatron finally answered. “And we will need Prime in some sort of fighting form. It would be wasteful to seriously damage him. Everyone must pull their weight here.” He noted with interest when Starscream relaxed his slightly clenched fingers as some deep emotional tension eased.

The moment passed as Starscream suddenly grinned. Prime had taken the opportunity to reach out and grab a wing. “Do you like them?” Starscream asked with a flirtatious grin, peering down at the drugged mech. Megatron frowned slightly when Prime ceased sucking on his fingertip to answer.

“They are very nice,” and Prime reached up and ran a palm over the white expanse of Starscream's lovely wing. He seemed entranced, and touched an aileron with outstretched fingers, pushing it back and forth. Starscream watched for a moment, a quirk back on his lips.

“So.”

Starscream turned to Megatron, with a wicked grin. “Since Prime is in such a compliant mood, why not take advantage of this situation and take care of the problem together?”

“He’s in no condition to participate in one of our … trysts.” _I don’t want him damaged._

“You think I can’t be gentle?” Starscream pretended to be offended. _I’ll behave. Promise._

“I’m serious.” Megatron crossed his arms and looked menacingly at his second. _He’s mine. I haven’t even enjoyed him yet!_

“So am I.” Starscream's wings flicked enticingly. _Come on. You know you want to._

“Heh... What do you say Prime?” _Let him decide._

Prime blinked up at the two mechs looming over him in confusion and realized after a moment that he had been asked a question. He opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling to understand the question asked of him, and almost seemed to give up. Then he tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something. After another moment, Prime slowly returned his gaze to Megatron who was waiting patiently for him and answered.

“Whatever you want, master.”

“Good answer,” Starscream crooned. “A response like that should be rewarded.”

Megatron chuckled in acquiescence as Starscream slid behind Prime and carefully started stroking along his lesser damaged seams, while the warbuild slipped between his captive's legs. He caught Prime’s face plate with one servo and gently brushed his intakes against Prime's, tasting the delicate lip plating. A teasing nibble and then he slipped his glossa inside to taste the other.

Megatron smiled into it as Prime clumsily returned his kiss, widening his intakes to allow his captive better access.

Prime was clearly enjoying Starscream’s efforts as he shivered at the light touches and leaned back into the embrace. He gave a pleased sigh around the glossa exploring his oral intake. He trembled when Megatron’s servos joined the jet’s ministrations, stroking him down his front plates.

Each clever touch tickled across his plating, alighting his sensor net.

Megatron's servos danced across his frame, mindful to avoid his hurt spots, instead dipping in here and there to tease at his deeper protoform. His questing fingers found and stroked along sensitive wiring and cabling, and Prime sighed into his mouth.

Megatron gently freed Prime’s intakes then and began sucking and nibbling his way down the his captive's neck cabling. His servos worked their way into the seams of Prime’s thighs, lightly tweaking the wiring there. He was pleased when Prime moaned softly and clumsily clutched at Megatron's plating, trying to pull him closer.

One black servo slipped below and began stroking around Prime's anterior, tracing around the pulsing little node.

Prime's soft rumbles deepened to moans as Starscream’s nimble fingers caressed their way down his paneling, focusing on Prime's lower abdominals. Prime leaned his head back as clever fingers slipped over his body, further building charge. A glimmer of lubricant trickled from his rapidly warming valve, mixed with internal fluid.

After a few moments, Megatron's servos left his node and gently slipped inside his valve, rubbing along the first cluster of sensors. He was careful not to penetrate too deeply, pleased to feel the lubricants beginning to drip out from around his gently plunging fingers.

Megatron could feel the charge building ever higher, arching between his fingers and Prime's internal sensors, pinpricks of lightening sensation. Prime cried out again and pushed against the pleasing fingers moving deftly within him.

Between them, they quickly worked the drugged Prime to overload. As he peaked, Megatron caught Prime’s face and kissed him while putting firm pressure on his anterior node as his captive's back arched. Prime shivered and cried out into Megatron's warm intakes.

Megatron sucked in the cry and rumbled in amusement as Prime clutched him frantically, grinding himself against the fingers in his valve, and released his charge between their warm frames.

“So … vanilla,” Starscream said, using a term he had picked up from their time on Earth. He watched as Prime’s first overload washed over him. Such ministrations wouldn’t have even registered to his interface equipment.

More proof that Autobots were soft and weak.

Megatron started massaging Prime's throat cabling as Prime recovered enough to tilt his head back, giving his owner full access while shuttering his optics with soft sighs of pleasure.

 _He really enjoys having his neck cables stroked,_ Megatron thought. _Good to know..._

“I can’t believe you didn’t just come over last night,” Starscream said, offended, as he too started working over the red and blue plating again. “My quarters aren’t locked, you know.” _Do you think you can just forget about me? Do you really think I will allow it?_

“Eh. I did consider it. I just didn’t want to admit to … this.” Megatron was fully aware the jet would find this entire situation hilarious. _I have not forgotten you._

Starscream did indeed laugh as Megatron knew he would. Then he calmed and gave Megatron a pointed look. “This will give him a day or so, but you will have to satisfy yourself with him eventually. You are being obscenely generous. It is rather embarrassing, to be honest.”

Megatron sighed again. He reached out and traced Prime’s valve slit with gentle fingers, careful not to irritate his injuries. “This is what I want,” he said, “and I will wait. I can afford to be generous. He is mine now. I will do with him as I please, and I couldn’t care less how you feel about it.”

“For spark’s sake just _take_ him. Frag him hard. Let him scream, he’ll live. You won, he lost. It is your right as the victor. It’s not like he would even remember, anyway.”

Starscream’s wicked grin was back.

“No,” and Megatron’s tone was dangerous now, allowing no further comment and promising violence if violated. “I will wait.” He had already considered all of these possibilities, but for all he needed Prime for he couldn’t fully indulge himself. Not to mention that … other problem. He couldn’t explain all of this to his Air Commander. Not without provoking another takeover attempt.

There was no question that Starscream would take advantage. Hopefully he didn’t already suspect. _He is a model Decepticon after all,_ and with that thought came a surge of genuine fondness. His jet was quite clever.

For his part, Starscream knew better than to cross that tone. It never ended well for him. Instead, he sighed in defeat and pulled out some gel in an unmarked tin from his subspace. “That might not be necessary.”

Starscream dipped his fingers into it, gathering a small amount, and then reached around. His clever fingers slipped inside and carefully coated Prime's soft metal, inside and out. Then he started working over the valve nodes while Megatron watched suspiciously.

Prime’s face tightened in pain when Starscream ventured towards the deeper places, but once the gel was rubbed in, Prime finally relaxed, and then seemed far more agreeable with the proceedings.

Starscream's fingers moved in and out, tickling inner nodes. His efforts quickly renewed the charge in Prime's array. The electric charges arched between the folds as Starscream worked the delicate, injured metal.

Prime shuttered his optics and pushed against the clever fingers moving rhythmically in and out of his now quivering valve. The gel had eased all pain, leaving only the pleasurable sensations behind.

 _So that is how he manages it,_ Megatron thought.

Starscream had sometimes been forced by circumstances to perform his duties directly after brutal (often consensual) trysts, and he had done so without the slightest hitch or suggestion of pain. That must be a strong painkiller.

Megatron could be a _very_ rough ride.

Prime cried out again, hip struts bucking. He reached down to try and push Starscream's fingers in harder. Starscream snorted in mirth and batted the interfering hand away. He was taking _his_ time, moving to his own desires.

There was a _snick_ sound, and a silver spike jutted out, thick and proud.

***

Optimus looked at the thick spike just inches away from his face.

Optimus considered it as the mech attached to it - his master as the coding informed him again and again - frowned down at him in contemplation. The voice in his head suggested maybe he could make his master happy if he … and after a moment he followed its lurid suggestions.

Leaning forward, Optimus opened his mouth and swallowed the very wet tip. Tasting the beads of fluid, he ran his glossa over the slit at the top.

His master jerked back in startled surprise, but quickly returned. After a noisy ex-vent, his master allowed him to reach out an unsteady hand and pull the thick spike back to his mouth. Optimus lapped up the drops streaming from the tip as a black hand descended to clutch at his helm. He kept licking along the length.

His optics were glazed over and distant as he closed his mouth over the spikehead again, warming it in the wet heat of his intakes. Swallowing the sticky fluid pooling in his mouth, he curled his glossa around the soft metal and began to suckle it.

***

Megatron watched for a while, enraptured.

Each pull of the mouth and flick of the glossa inside sent glorious tingles up his spike and into his sensor net. He swallowed thickly, devouring the sight. He'd imagined this many, many times over the course of the war, and now, here they were.

It was every bit as glorious as he'd imagined, and the moment was intoxicating, seeing _that_ mouth on _his_ spike ... even if Prime wasn't truly aware of what he was doing.

Megatron knew he would remember none of their play today.

He placed his other hand lightly on Prime’s helm, curling his fingers and taking control. His spikehead throbbed in the warm, soft mouth. Then he tilted his head back and shuttered his optics and began to thrust earnestly into the warm wet mouth. His vents came faster and faster as he relished the slide of his spike across Prime's soft, pleasing glossa.

Megatron forced himself to stay gentle, but still worked his spike in deeper and deeper, thrusting more powerfully as he chased after his first overload. The ridges of his spike worked over the soft, compliant glossa inside, stretching the delicate intake plating wide around his girth.

Prime seemed confused, throat spasming for the intruder, but still sucked around the connector moving furiously in his intakes. He swallowed around it, his glossa clumsily trying to stroke the plunging hot metal.

For long moments there were only the slick sounds of metal rubbing over wet metal, and Megatron's pleasured rumbling. His servos clenched reflexively over the blue helm as he began to peak.

Another handful of thrusts and Megatron gasped. He pressed in deep and held, spilling out into a warm intake with a fierce rumble of ecstasy.

Prime remained confused as Megatron's spike spurted transfluid deep down his throat. It warmed his fuel tank as he swallowed pulse after pulse of Megatron's hot transfluid.

Megatron rumbled in delight while massaging the base of his spike as Prime continued to suck him through his release. Slowly the tingles eased, and his spike loosened and then began to pressurize again at the continued suckling. He was considering having another go at Prime's wonderful mouth until the sound of slickly stroked metal caught his attention.

A quick glance and Megatron realized Starscream was smearing lubricant on his own spike.

“No," and Megatron's warning tone was back with a vengeance. "It's mine, Starscream. I will be taking care of your needs myself.”

Starscream knew exactly which _it_ Megatron was referring to, and pretended to pout. He shrugged ruefully, returning his fingers to work over the frame in his lap.

Promises had been made, yes, but Starscream had his own plans in regards to the body in his lap. He watched as Megatron liberated his heavy spike from Prime’s mouth. Starscream grinned and removed his teasing fingers from Prime's valve, releasing him. Prime made a soft sound of disappointment when those clever fingers disappeared from his wonderfully aching, throbbing valve.

Then Megatron knelt down and spread his captive's legs and pushed himself between them.

Starscream braced for him as Megatron adjusted his grip, tilting Prime's hips and array for a better angle. Then Megatron slowly urged his thick spike, still dripping with oral lubricants, into Prime's slick, overstimulated valve.

Starscream grinned as he felt Prime startle in his lap. Then he felt Prime arch back in shocked pleasure as Megatron forced himself deeper and deeper into his captive.

Armor flaring in excitement, Megatron murmured encouragement into Prime's audial as he coaxed the drugged captive to take his full length. He sank in, retreated, then sank in again until, after a few long moments of effort, he was fully seated. Prime's valve rim was stretched obscenely wide to accommodate his invasion. He could feel Prime's calipers latch on to his spike and then they urged him just a little deeper.

The Slagmaker took a long moment just to enjoy the feel of his old enemy's body against him; the wonderfully tight squeeze of the passage around his spike. Then he started a gentle thrusting that began working over all of Prime's nodes, his movements meant to coax a gentle, slowly building pleasure from his captive. His engine rumbled in anticipation as he settled down to finally and fully indulge himself.

Still mindful of his captive's injuries, even as his own pleasure built ever higher, Megatron's movements remained slow and gentle. Unlike the feckless Galvatron, he was not so lacking in control as to damage his new distraction, even while so focused on the furious pleasure radiating from his spike.

Prime, intakes no longer muffled by Megatron's spike, began to cry out with each rolling thrust into his delicate mesh.

Megatron shuddered then, loving the pleasured cries from the other. His plating was fully flared now, violently aroused for all the uninhibited squirming and the way Prime's valve was clenching around his throbbing spike. The charge built steadily under Megatron's assault and Prime pushed clumsily back his plunging thrusts, wrapping his arms shakily around his owner.

Megatron accepted his captive's unsure grip, grinning and nuzzling his neck cables encouragingly as he moved within him, squeezing Prime's aft with powerful black servos and gently pulling him into the thrusts. _Oh, if only you were actually awake to appreciate this, my old enemy..._

Meanwhile, Starscream was positioning himself as carefully as possible to avoid alerting his enthralled leader that he was _up to something._

Then he began to push his spike up into the unsuspecting tailpipe in his lap. Starscream held Prime absolutely still - as was necessary - while he worked his spike into the unsuspecting tailpipe inch by careful inch.

Not meant to accept intruders, Prime's startled tailpipe pulsated involuntarily around Starscream's spike as it tried to expel the invader. Prime's undulating internals felt exquisite over his spike sensors. He just had to work his way deeply enough and then hold himself motionless so that Prime would begin to enjoy the spike buried deep inside his otherwise uncooperative internals.

Until then, the intrusion was rather painful.

Fortunately, the Slagmaker had leaned forward and captured Prime’s mouth and was pillaging it, hungrily sucking and swallowing all of his captive's delicious, joyful sobs and didn’t notice the sudden change and the concerned squirming.

Megatron was rocking gently, fully enjoying Prime's valve, which was finally, completely, his. He was so lost in sensation, in the steady slide of soft wet metal and burning sensors and hot building charge that it took a lot of squirming from Prime before he realized something was amiss.

Looking down, Megatron realized Prime was confused and uncomfortable, and glanced at Starscream questioningly. Prime's upset was forcing his attention away from his own building charge, to his irritation.

“Give him a minute,” Starscream murmured. He barely kept a moan out of his voice, as he was clearly really enjoying whatever he was up to.

“Starscream.” His voice held warning.

Then Prime’s expression relaxed and Starscream grinned at Megatron in sheerest amusement.

_See? It’s fine._

Megatron hesitated, still keeping his plunging rhythm, and then finally returned his attention to his captive as Prime’s soft pleasured sounds resumed. He was clearly really enjoying what Starscream was doing to him now. He was firmly pinned between the two Decepticons now, taken from both sides. His besieged array was awash with pleasure, the surging charge flooding over his nodes and overwhelming his frame.

Between Megatron’s thrusts and Starscream’s motionless bliss, Prime threw his helm back as the sensations coalesced across his sensor net. He shuddered hard, crying out as overload took him from both sides.

Megatron felt the tremble of his valve as his powerful overload rippled around his spike and the shivering of Prime's body he was currently lost in. He murmured his approval into Prime's heaving intakes.

Moments later and he followed with his own shuddering release, pushing in deep and holding. His back strut arched as he drove his charge into Prime's valve with a hiss of pleasure, his spike emptying into his captive in hot throbbing pulses.

Megatron in-vented for a few moments, fully enjoying the delightful, electric prickles pulsing up from his spike while he slowly cycled down from his high. Pleased, he mouthed along his captive's neck cables and kept Prime pressed close against him. He remained within the other, keeping their messy arrays squeezed together.

Curious, he glanced at Starscream while nibbling at Prime's neck. The combined pulse had hit Starscream's spike and the seeker had groaned, but he hadn't peaked. Not yet.

"What are you doing back there?” Megatron asked suspiciously while noting Starscream's trembling wings and his fevered expression. Starscream explained languidly, head tilted back, intakes working, lost in his own slowly building charge. His wings flared and trembled in growing excitement as he forced his lower body to stay very still.

“That is … filthy,” and Megatron eyed Prime cautiously. Prime was was trembling against Starscream now, his head resting back on a white shoulder with his intakes opening and closing, overrun with confused and yet very pleasing tingles from down below.

“Have you done it before?” Starscream’s back arched as motionlessly as possible and his wings fanned out and shivered as white hot joy enveloped his array, hitting his sensor net like a freight train and lancing throughout his light frame.

“No.” Megatron watched with growing interest as his jet climaxed and emptied into Prime's tailpipe with an exultant hiss. His completion knocked Prime into his third for the afternoon, causing him to cry out again, vents working frantically.

Megatron hissed as Prime's valve convulsed around his spike a little, still rippling through the aftershocks of the previous overload. He was still seated deep within his captive, and enjoyed the feel of Prime's valve fluttering around his still pressurized spike. He squeezed Prime's hip struts as their mingled fluids trickled and dripped out of Prime's over-full valve. He watched with satisfaction as his glowing pink transfluid - mixed with Prime's lubricants and internal fluid - streamed out and around the base of his spike.

“I have never had the inclination,” Megatron answered after a moment.

“Then you don’t have an opinion.”

Starscream's tone was firm, and then with a satisfied flick of his wings, he pulled out with a sharp motion. His spike disengaged as fast as physically possible (tailpipe play etiquette says it is rude to linger). Prime flinched in surprise, and then slowly relaxed.

“Perhaps you are right," Megatron decided. "Move over and I will see for myself.”

Megatron's powerful servos were still wrapped around Prime's hip struts, his silver frame otherwise completely relaxed. He found himself just enjoying the trembling, wet warmth engulfed around his thick connector as he waited for Starscream to comply with his order.

“I am right, but you can’t take him now. You can only enter once. After you pull out that first time it re-calibrates for a cycle and then it hurts like _holy slag_ if you go back in. It’s Vortex’s go-to torture for interrogating captives when we don’t want to leave a mark. And don’t ask me how I know that."

Starscream had finally found out what Octane had bribed Vortex with, much to his regret.

Megatron frowned at his second. _You slagger._

“Unless you want to. Not like I care.” Starscream grinned at him lazily. _Why yes, yes I am._

Megatron pulled out, loosed his hold on his captive, and took ahold of a white wing instead. He gripped the edge until the metal buckled between his fingers. He started to move away and Starscream scrambled to keep from twisting his delicate wing. His array was already dripping, fields shivering with anticipation as he was dragged a few paces away and the Slagmaker descended upon him.

It had been awhile since Megatron had done this with him, thanks to Hook. It was going to be brutal and Starscream couldn’t be happier.

_He can’t give you this._

***

Optimus slid down onto his back on the floor and watched as the two other mechs in the room started fighting.

It looked like fighting anyway. His vision was blurry and the motions were too fast for him to properly track, but it was definitely some sort of violence. The sounds the red and white one with the pretty wings was making didn’t sound like he was hurting though.

Well, he did, but the noise he was making was very particular. Optimus' thoughts whirled and swirled around as the two bodies thrashed violently on the floor next to him for some time.

***

 

Starscream finished with a shriek.

The feel of his valve spasming around Megatron's spike pulled the Slagmaker over with him. Starscream blacked out underneath the heavy warbuild’s silver frame from the intensity of the assault and resulting overload.

Laying motionless for a long moment, Megatron just focused on his ventilations. His intakes were heaving, but he was not offline. Then he pulled himself to his pedes.

Megatron left Starscream passed out on the floor (after standing over him a moment and deciding he was going to have to relieve the jet of some of that gel) and returned to Prime. He smiled down at him and then pulled the drugged mech to his feet. He started to lead Prime into the shower with him but his captive can’t seem to walk.

After a few stumbles Megatron gave up and lifted Prime and carried him. “No need to have you waking up a mess," Megatron murmured into a shy audial. "I still have time before this afternoon’s patrol.”

Megatron was pleased to feel that Prime's fever had diminished enormously. His musing was interrupted as Prime insisted on kissing him again. He allowed it, and then felt his spike twitch and begin to re pressurize.

 _Once more shouldn’t damage him,_ Megatron decided. This affair had been worth the wait, and he had one or two more left in him yet.

The last interface for Prime was a truly gentle and intimate affair, in a sharp contrast to what Megatron had just done to his jet.

Megatron laid the Prime out and open, and began to work over his body. Lavishing his captive with his mouth, Megatron slid his spike into the other, the body beneath him weakly pushing up into his rocking thrusts. Soft cries left his captive's vocalizor, and he groaned into the soft intakes as his own charge was building.

Megatron pulled back to admire his shuddering captive for a moment, his rocking movements steady and sure as Prime clumsily tried to match his movements. Then he picked up the pace only a little quicker, mouth reclaiming Prime's intakes and his spike re-surging again and again into the soft valve as he worked the completely relaxed frame beneath him to completion.

As the weak charge hit, Megatron, too, finished moments later, and then fell over onto his back strut.

With one last gasp, he finally blacked out.

***

Starscream woke back up with a happy groan, sitting up from his position on the floor of Megatron’s quarters. His array was both tingling and sore, and everything felt so achy … which was just the way he loved it. What a wonderful start to the afternoon! Best day ever. Well, here on this planet, anyway.

Then he felt the tale-tell twinges of pain and fluttering in his abdominals ... and that he did not love at all ... but he ignored it. He was back to his pedes not a moment later and realized he probably should be on his way. Neither he nor Megatron were much for post-bliss cuddling.

Far too Autobot.

But he could hear a tiny bit of movement in the shower, and he hesitated. Probably should check on Glorious Leader, just in case he'd bashed open his helm playing with his little frag toy and required Starscream to take over the Decepticons as Leader.

_One can always hope._

Moving silently towards the shower just to satisfy his curiosity, he then saw something that filled his traitorous spark with malicious glee. His pit-spawn of a leader had passed out. Now his little berth warmer was making himself useful. But what he was so usefully doing greatly amused him.

If Starscream had tried anything like this on Megatron, he would be beaten to a scrap, dumped into an incinerator and his ashes spread over a scrap heap. And then the scrap heap would be set on fire.

Starscream sneaked closer and watched as the Autobot innocently and almost mindlessly nuzzled and kissed over what was obviously the Slagmaker’s valve. Just the outer folds, and without any sort of purpose or skill ... he was far, far too drugged for any sort of coordinated movement.

But still…

Starscream grinned and smirked and finally doubled over in barely smothered spasms of glee. Oh, this was too rich! Picking up one of the energon cubes Megatron had left out for Prime, he decided to take a page out of Skywarp’s prank playbook and intentionally escalated the situation.

Creeping into the shower, he silently stalked up behind Prime. He flicked his beautiful white wings and caught Prime's attention, and then slipped in during the confusion. Reaching out, he filled the Slagmaker’s slightly open valve with the entire contents of the cube, to the point where some starts trickling out, dripping down the slit and the plush silver folds.

Starscream gave the confused Autobot his most reassuring smile (the one that routinely sends his faction mates scrambling in a panic for the door) and whispered “that’s for you, go ahead” and then wisely bolted for the wash rack exit an instant later.

Megatron was going to _murder him._

Starscream positioned himself for the best possible viewing angle while remaining out of line of cannon fire. He was dead. He was absolutely dead. It was so worth it. He watched in rapture as energon trickled out of Great Leader’s valve. Twisting his fingers in wild mirth, he watched as Prime hesitantly lapped with as much interest as his drugged processor could muster.

Clearly liking the taste, Prime then dipped his blue helm as he went in after the rest. Prime gently slipped his soft, wet glossa into Megatron's valve again and again, his lip plating clumsily moving through the folds and pleats, pressing in and nuzzling and sucking after the sweet energized fluid inside.

Megatron's deep rumbling moans floated out of the room as Prime pressed his face plates back even firmer against his engorged silver valve, parting the folds and lapping up what was left of the energon in the deepest places he could reach.

Prime was heedless of the gush of thick lubricants around his delicate mouth plating in response to the pleasures his soft lathing glossa was coaxing from Megatron's hypersensitive valve. The lubricants smeared over his lip plating and chin, mixing with yellow energon and trickling down the plush, parted folds to drip to the floor.

The Slagmaker was beginning to move unconsciously with the slick touches, another deep, rumbling moan escaping his intakes.

Starscream managed a good look at Megatron’s shocked face plates as he woke up amid overload. The warbuild's hip struts shake and his back arched right off the floor in a wild shudder and Starscream doubled over in mirth again.

Starscream's wings twitched in spasms and he was _utterly beside himself_ with glee. He watched as the Slagmaker’s fists clenched in murderous threat and smirked as Megatron forced himself to relax when he realized with a shocked expression just who was responsible for all of the unauthorized sensations coming from that area of his array.

Megatron moved as if to sit up, watching in stunned surprise as his captive continued his efforts between the his legs.

Prime's expression was one of mild interest and lacked the slightest flicker of understanding or concern for his actions. He pulled back for a moment and his lower face plating was coated with lubricants. Then he nuzzled back, licking over the outer folds again, cleaning the energon smears and his glossa lathed over Megatron's anterior node, causing Megatron's hips to dance in response.

Then Prime _sucked on it_ as his glossa cleaned the area of spilled energon and Megatron fell back with a harsh cry again, legs jolting out reflexively in overload, bouncing the red and blue mech nestled over the top of them.

 _It has to be very sensitive,_ the naughty seeker mused, no doubt because Megatron never used it. Too many submissive implications with that blessed piece of equipment.

Megatron's fists unclenched after a long, dangerous moment. Then he pulled Prime up and over him, pulling him close for a sloppy, forgiving kiss on his messy lip plating. Prime returned the mouthing kiss clumsily and then fell back as his master gently pushed him away.

Starscream frowned then, disappointed. He was hoping for something actually brutal to happen.

“Starscream!” Megatron yelled, wiping at his lip components furiously.

_Busted._

He couldn’t run for it now. Honestly, he would never make it to the door. The beating that was coming down the pipe was still _so_ worth it.

Starscream peeked into the shower, face plates covered with a slag-eating grin. “Yes, oh most _glorious_ of leaders-“

“Get. Over. Here. Now.”

Starscream’s grin remained on his face plates, and he obeyed with a predatory smirk. The sound of violent interfacing began again. It wasn’t long before Starscream was moaning again, and then his volume started to increase again.

***

 Optimus' helm was spinning. All of the forced activity had completely exhausted him. He quickly lost all interest in his surroundings and lowered his helm down to the ground for a moment.

There was a puddle of fluids in front of him, a thick mix of Megatron's transfluid, lubricant, and yellow energon.

The whispering voice in his mind made a helpful suggestion for what he could do about it. Without the slightest flicker of any sort of thought, he obliged the slave coding voice in his mind.

***

Starscream found himself flipped over onto his front, face shoved onto the edge of the basin with a black hand brutally clenched around his helm. He shrieked as he was re-entered. He opened his optics in delight as Megatron began brutalizing his valve from a different angle.

Then his optics widened as what he was seeing sank in past the heady mix of pleasure and pain of a violently building charge. He could instantly tell when Megatron noticed too, as the brutal pounding stopped mid-thrust.

The moment hung while they both watched the third member of their vicious little party.

Prime was kneeling, body splattered liberally with a mix of lubricants, internal fluid, and transfluid. Megatron's spill was slowly dripping, trickling out of the soft, bruised valve that Megatron had fully painted.

Prime's valve was still slightly engorged, with little streams of bright pink transfluid escaping down his thighs and trickling over his legs. His blue optics were closed to sleepy slits, and he was using his glossa to...

Both Decepticon's cooling fans increased an uptick.

“Can I move in with you?” Starscream asked, wistful.

***

Optimus, just finished with the codeing’s suggestion, watched as the two forms in the basin suddenly and violently resumed moving in brutal rhythm and listened as shrieks of mingled pain and ecstasy rose higher and higher, becoming shrill and joyous screams.

His owner was silent except for the low rumbling moans matching his violent movements. Optimus curled up into a ball to watch, feeling strange, as if someone far away was very, very upset with him. He comforted himself by watching his owner as he moved furiously.

Optimus listened dully as the voice in his head repeated endlessly how handsome his owner was.

***

Wings damaged, mouth bitten, and valve streaming lubricant down his legs, Starscream was lost to ecstasy. He heard Megatron rumble behind him and then he was flipped again, and retaken from the front. He was rolled so he was straddling his leader, both facing each other in the basin.

His pit-spawn of a leader leaned back and viciously twisted Starscream's helm back. He crushed him to his chest plates and thrust upwards, sharp and brutal. There was a sudden smack as the flat of his palm smashed into the jet’s skid plate in time with the thrusts, forcing his thick spike deeper with each strike.

From his position on the ground, Prime struggled to focus his optics, taking in the scene before him with a dull but growing sense of alarm.

Starscream shrieked with each hit while Megatron snarled vitriol into his audials.

“I told you never to touch that!”

“I didn’t!”

“The slag you didn’t! Lie harder, Starscream!”

The hits increased in strength until they were all but unbearable, and Starscream _writhed._

Then Megatron flipped Starscream yet again, and repeated the vicious spanking. Only this time he began hitting the front of Starscream’s interface panel with the flat of his hand, smashing the base of his own buried, thrusting spike while punishing his jet’s valve, and he didn’t give one frag for his own intense pain over the satisfying shrieks of his pit-spawned Air Commander.

“Don’t – You - Ever – Touch – That – Again!”

The last word was an absolute roar.

One last final shriek, and the furious movements froze into a massive shared spasm. Then they collapsed into the basin in a ball of tangled limbs, splattered liberally with a mix of internal fluid and transfluid.

After a long moment, Megatron grunted satisfaction and pulled out of his favorite jet, and both Decepticons faced the other, gasping each other’s ex vents in utter satiation.

“My most humble apologies, Leader,” Starscream gasped out. He knew he had been let off extremely lightly for his infarction. “It will not happen again.”

_Unless I can get away with it._

Megatron didn't miss the inflection not one iota, but chose to ignore it. Then, once he could vent properly, Megatron grabbed a bright white wing and manhandled his Air Commander out of the empty basin.

“Out. And don’t think this is going to cancel our patrol. Clean yourself up and meet me at the outer base entrance in five breems. Do not be late.” He viciously shoved Starscream towards the shower exit, baring his denta when Starscream looked back over his shoulder to smirk at him, then obediently left.

Megatron watched his jet leave, then his gaze flicked fondly over to his drugged captive, only a few feet away. But the look on Prime's face plates brought him up short, and he startled. Prime was staring at him, expression utterly horrified, both hands held protectively over his valve.

It was such a perfect expression that Megatron laughed uproariously, like he normally never did, the sound booming around the small room. Then he smiled at his frightened captive to reassure him and then motioned him over. Prime hesitated, and then slowly obeyed as he must. He was clearly still afraid, and was forced to crawl as he was too confused and exhausted to do anything else.

“Come _here._ ”

Megatron pulled the confused Prime upright and steadied him against his chest plates. He turned on the shower, and hot fluid from the showerhead above started pouring down over them. Prime calmed finally, then laid his head on Megatron's shoulder and relaxed as his owner began to wash off the various fluids coating his body.

He relaxed further for the soothing rub along his back strut, and nuzzled his helm into the crook between his owner's neck and shoulder. His strange fever was completely gone now, and he drifted off into recharge as he was lifted up and carried to the berth and arranged into a comfortable position.

Prime was already lost in eccentric dreams when Megatron downed a few cubes and left their quarters for patrol.

 


	11. Best Laid Plans of Mice and Autobots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Optimus tries to work out an escape plan. Very difficult to do with Megatron buried to the hilt in your valve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-Con Sticky Sex, Inappropriate touches, Mild consensual spark sex, and as requested, I was able to work in a tiny mention of non-con smut involving a sweep. :P
> 
> Again, thanks for the comments, they keep me writing. :D I wasn't planning on making this as long as it has gotten, but the story kind of grabbed me and ran for it.

Megatron flew through greenish skies with Starscream and his command trine at his back.

They were out on patrol as scheduled and Starscream had been right on time, as Megatron knew he would be. But it seemed their new home world had other ideas regarding the rest of the afternoon, as an ominous cloud cover rolled in and the skies threatened to deluge a viscous rain.

Megatron insisted they complete their planned patrol route, but he did pick up the pace considerably. The planet’s malicious weather system was not one with whom to slag, and when it warned of impending disaster in the form of nasty incoming weather, its new Cybertronian exiles had quickly learned they (damned well) better listen.

Finally they were forced to land to allow their fuel tanks to catch up with conversion.

Keeping sharp optics out for roving Sweeps, Starscream approached his leader, who for some reason -the jet smirked to himself- was in a _very_ relaxed mood. It was the best possible time to approach him with a petition.

“Leader,” Starscream addressed him respectfully after they had landed, “Something must be done about Hook. It is only a matter of time before he succeeds in his random attacks.”

He really did want the Constructicon dead.

But then Starscream was known for being a vindictive glitch. No one crossed him if they could avoid it, and his effectiveness when it came to matters of revenge was one of the many reasons he had risen to his place as second-in-command.

Starscream addressed his Glorious Leader with confidant tones, wings held high and proud, and moved without a hint of pain. Megatron glanced over at him, noting with satisfaction that although he was now completely clean, the minor dents, deeper paint transfers, and scuff marks from their earlier tryst still remained, marking the capricious jet as his. If Skywarp and Thundercracker noticed the evidence of their vicious interfacing (and they most certainly did) they said nothing.

“We have no other option,” Megatron replied. “No one else can repair internal injuries. So long as a weapon pointed at his helm still works, he must be left alive.”

Starscream scowled, but did not interrupt.

“I ordered Hook remain bound and under close watch unless working," Megatron informed him, "and I will be overseeing all surgeries personally to ensure his conduct remains… appropriate.”

Starscream flicked a wing at his leader in acknowledgement of the concession. Having Megatron at your back while strapped down to a medical berth was far more comforting then whoever you might otherwise have to bribe for help with Hook.

“Unfortunate that Soundwave is not yet conscious,” Starscream said with a calculated, uncharacteristically morose expression as he walked a few paces away. “There would be far less chance of Hook cornering anyone if he was online.”

Megatron grunted in agreement, optics scanning the skyline. He didn’t like the look of the approaching storm front.

Starscream knew that if Soundwave had been functional, his own brutal assault in the medbay would not have lasted as long as it did. The telepath would have sensed violent interactions within the base. He had been damned fortunate that Megatron had bothered to check in on him. He would have been off-lined that day, otherwise.

“We could really use his abilities in the coming conflict as well,” Starscream grudgingly muttered to himself, loud enough that Megatron could hear. He did mean the words, but bringing up Soundwave was also a concealed, irritated dig at Megatron for not capitulating to his murderous request. Starscream was fully aware Megatron was concerned for Soundwave, and would use it against him in any way he could.

“Yes,” Megatron agreed, seeming distracted as he stared out towards the horizon, lost in thought. He had a deep frown on his face though, as Soundwave was dearly missed, by him if no one else.

“Has anyone tried giving him a spark reset?” Skywarp asked.

Megatron looked over at Skywarp questioningly, suddenly interested.

“Basically just a glorified spark overload,” Starscream clarified for his trine mate. “And yes, we did. Before we lost Scrapper, he used a spark re-regulator on Soundwave. There was no effect.”

“Yeah, I know, but how about an actual spark interface?” Skywarp insisted. “Wouldn’t hurt to try. The real thing has to be better than using a slagging machine.”

Starscream snorted. “There is no difference. Literally no difference at all. The device mimics the pulse and frequencies of an actual spark. That, and good luck trying to convince his little group of unholy terrors you had… _good intentions._ Not after that little incident with Dirge.”

There was a massive crack of thunder to the west, and the entire patrol whirled at the sound. Lightening split the sky, further illuminating a dreadful storm front in the distance, approaching rapidly.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Starscream said as he scowled at the horizon.

Megatron agreed, then interrupted the conversation and ordered them back into the sky, wings turned homeward.

Patrol was officially over.

They flew along the edge of a deep trench on their way back, keeping optics sharp for both Autobots and Unicronians when the frantic call came in; Octane was pinging comms for help. He was part of an outer perimeter patrol and his coordinates flash into their internal displays.

Reaching the coordinates, they could immediately see the problem. Both Blitzwing and Octane were grounded and pinned down with seven or so Sweeps harrying them. The command trine roared past and lit up the dark sky with laser fire, maneuvering expertly through the skies while avoiding return fire.

Megatron cut his flight engines midair and hit several of the Sweeps on his way down, smashing into them and then swiftly transforming into tank mode. He landed squarely on one, his massively heavy bulk crushing it into the ground and immediately took aim at the next.

One devastating shot, two, and another two Sweeps were down, and then his energy stores marked for artillery fire were depleted.

The command trine darting and diving above him were also out of energy-based ammunition (curse this world’s wretchedly weak proto-fuel) and then it was back to using their fists and bodies as weapons.

Fortunately Megatron was just as lethal either way.

Grinding the first Sweep into a pulp beneath his tank treads, he rumbled forward towards the next, but Galvatron’s drones had had enough. They swooped past, and it was obvious that they were preparing to flee. Megatron transformed and considered chasing them down, but the rumble of approaching thunder made his decision for him. Reluctantly, he ordered his forces to rally back to him.

 _The attacks are increasing,_ Megatron realized as he cleared pieces of a Sweep's limb from between his tank treads.

“This is the third incursion in as many days, Leader.” Starscream called as he watched the defeated Sweeps snatch up their fallen and flee towards the horizon. “These are scouting parties.” He'd reached the same conclusion.

“A forerunner for an all-out attack.” Thundercracker summed up the situation for the rest of them. “As soon as they locate our base, we can expect them. It may be only a matter of days now.”

Megatron looked out over the horizon, watching as the Sweeps disappeared into the distance. _This conflict will be nothing if not interesting._ He didn't know Galvatron personally or his methods. But it seemed like he was soon to be grappling with a new adversary, one that did not appear to be fully sane.

They winged their way homeward in haste, barely reaching the base in time before the tempest blew in.

 

* * *

 

There was a massive crack of thunder overhead, and the derelict ship shook with the sound.

Optimus jerked awake with a bleary groan. Sitting up on the berth, he suffered a moment of confusion, unsure where he was. Then his unhappy reality crashed back down upon him, and he immediately searched the room with nervous optics.

Thankfully, Megatron’s quarters were empty... he'd awakened before Megatron returned for the evening, for once. He startled again for another crack of thunder, then settled and listened to the intermittent booms of thunder all around him. He realized it must be storming outside as the rusty bulkheads of the deralict ship rattled and creaked as the peals of thunder traveled through them, and he could just barely hear the punishing winds and battering rain.

He groaned and rubbed at his helm. It felt like someone was driving ice picks into it. He felt unusually exhausted, drained down to his deepest places. Checking his fuel levels, he was startled to see them at less than 25%. It was a surprising drop in power levels. He had been much higher that morning. There were low fuel warnings flashing in his internal display now, and with a tired sigh he dismissed them.

The last thing he remembered was fighting with Hook, and seeing Starscream standing in the doorway. That fight had cost him quite a bit of energy. Worse, Optimus couldn’t remember much after the weird sedative Hook had given him had kicked in, just murmurs of noise and a vague blur of movement.

_This is probably intentional...perhaps part of some kind of sick plan._

Something had definitely happened.

He felt painful twinges everywhere. They were on top of his normal hurts, particularly in his valve, and somewhere deep behind it. Something down below was not alright, hurting well beyond the grinding pain he was almost accustomed to now.

He noticed an energon cube left out, and assumed it was left for him. His fuel tanks gurgled with hunger and he tried to stand up, but he was still too weak yet. His legs gave out and he had to grab the edge of the berth to keep from falling. Pulling himself upwards, he sat back down on the berth and dropped his helm into his servos, momentarily overwhelmed by his wretched situation.

Then he sucked in a deep, steadying breath and sat quietly, giving his unhappy frame a chance to settle.

He was terribly hungry, but his limbs were refusing to cooperate. He was forced to stay where he was unless he was willing to crawl. He was not that far gone yet, though he'd been only barely functional the last few days. He'd been moving from pained moment to pained moment, often falling unconscious from the agony of the mental attacks the slave coding had waged against his mind. At least that part of the code had quieted now, and he could think.

_I need a plan._

He calmed his pounding spark and took a moment to gauge his surroundings. He was unsure how many days had passed in captivity, perhaps three or so. Time kept slipping away from him, leaving him feeling disjointed and confused.

Looking around, he noted he was still in Megatron’s near-empty personal quarters, alone. The storm was still going strong outside, and the day was mostly gone according to his internal chronometer, and Megatron would likely be returning soon.

Optimus forced himself to think. _I need a plan._

He wasn’t chained or bound down, so that was something. He hadn’t been ordered to stay in Megatron’s chambers, but at the same time he could barely walk. He was tempted just to try and leave, but in his spark he knew he wouldn’t get far, and then he would be ordered to stay put. Beyond that, he had no idea where he was inside this ship or where to go to escape.

Worse, he was currently too weak to try and fight his way out. By the look of things, Megatron didn’t consider him a threat anymore, even to the point of recharging with him at night. It rankled that his old enemy was currently correct in his threat assessment.

 _Megatron may not be aware that he essentially calmed the slave code down,_ he considered, and that was something he could use, an edge. If he was allowed to struggle, he could possibly escape.

 _I need to be able to move around, so I can map out the layout of the ship. Perhaps I can convince Megatron to let me out of this room to work?_ Though he wasn’t sure he was up to doing any sort of manual labor. Hell, right now he couldn't even summon enough strength to cross a room, much less any sort of work.

 _Perhaps I should just behave mindlessly if my struggling is keeping him amused and interested?_ At some point Megatron was going to get bored with his toy, but who knew how long that might take?

But by then it might be too late for Ratchet.

Optimus found himself struggling to focus. His concerns for Ratchet and his Autobots kept creeping in, derailing his thoughts. _Are any of them even still alive?_   In his spark, he doubted it. They had been on their last legs when he was stolen away from his last handful of Autobots. The Unicronians had been utterly relentless in their attacks. He could only be sure that Ratchet was still alive, up to the point he'd thrown the medic to relative safety.

His spark twisted within him for that bittersweet memory, and he worried for his dear friend.

_I must escape and find Ratchet. Think!_

 

* * *

 

The storm was one of the worst they had experienced yet.

It mercilessly lashed the derelict ship that served as the Decepticon base. The old metal groaned as hurricane-force winds and rocky debris battered the rusted outer hull.

His heavy pede steps precede him even over the sounds of the storm, and Soundwave’s dejected menagerie leave quietly as Megatron entered the medbay for one of his semi-frequent visits. Megatron had their complete trust, and they vacated the area without a word. Desiring privacy, he ordered them to keep everyone out of the medbay until he left.

As they leave, silence reigned heavy and the medbay fell as quiet as a tomb. Megatron had begun to lose hope that his old friend and strongest supporter would ever recover.

 _Perhaps it is time for more drastic measures,_ he thought.

Skywarp’s off-hand suggestion about spark merging had implanted an idea into his processor, and he just couldn’t shake it off. He hesitated for a long moment, and then released the locking mechanism of his own chest plating. The latch opened with a _click_ , the sound echoing around the otherwise silent room.

Reaching out, Megatron gently opened Soundwave’s chest plates. He would never, never consider doing this for anyone else, but the blue mech laid out on this ratty, makeshift medical berth was special. He spent long moments watching, entranced, as Soundwave's beautiful spark swirled in its chamber. The pulsing appeared unsteady, hinting to the dark dreams the comatose spy was lost in.

Slowly and carefully, Megatron positioned himself onto the berth and situated himself above his most valuable soldier, spark bared and ready. As he prepared himself for the merge, unbidden memory-files played behind his optics. Unbidden, he remembered his time spent in his cell on the prison ship, watching helplessly from his central location as so many of his mechs were butchered in the cages around him.

He remembered the sounds of a scuffle that woke him from a light recharge in that dark place one night.

Peering past the energy bars of his cell, he'd gnashed his denta when he realized what was happening in the cell across. Galvatron and Optimus Prime were scrapping again, battling over Soundwave's fate. Galvatron was starving, and Soundwave was helpless in his cell, and his fate had seemed a forgone conclusion.  But Galvatron had gotten the upper hand that night as he shoved Optimus Prime to the side, and was bending down to finish off Soundwave, clearly intending to feed on his internal fluids.

Megatron's servos had clenched into furious, helpless fists as he prepared to bear witness to Soundwave’s death.

Watching Galvatron reach for Soundwave had violently upset Megatron, but a harsher side of him had understood as well. The part of him that was pure Decepticon even approved. The weak _should_ parish so that the strong might survive, that was their way. But his spark had ached treacherously within him as Galvatron prepared to offline his most loyal soldier.

Megatron remembered how Optimus Prime had rallied and somehow found the strength to fight for the sake of another. Prime had thrown himself against his murderous cellmate and had managed to hold Galvatron against the energy bars of their shared cell long enough to knock the barbarian into stasis. Then Prime had remained a vigilant protector throughout the remainder of the wretched journey, using a powerful blue fist to send Galvatron straight back to stasis anytime he dared move.

Later, near the end of their journey, a desperate Skywarp had asked Prime for the Sweep’s corpses on the floor of the Autobot’s cell (reluctantly killed early on when they attacked Prime) and was surprised when Prime reluctantly nudged them over to the bars within reach of the starving Decepticons in the next cell. Prime was an Autobot, and refused to desecrate the dead even though he was close to stasis himself, but he would not stand by and let the living suffer if he could help. For himself though, he'd refused to accept any of the resulting fluid generously offered to him.

Prime had clung to his ideals throughout the horror of captivity, standing as a bastion of dignity and strength. _Imprudent Autobot sentimentality,_ Megatron thought while frowning into the swirling spark beneath him, the lovely light flickering over the solemn face of his dearest friend. _What do the dead care for desecration? Life is for the living._

Then he remembered seeing Optimus Prime cut himself, and drip some of his fluids down Soundwave’s intakes in those last few desperate days, further weakening himself to buy Soundwave just a little more precious time.

Megatron knew in his spark that Optimus Prime was lying in his berth tonight because he had sacrificed so much of his own strength in defense of an enemy. Galvatron, once freed, had taken advantage of that. He had overwhelmed and claimed Prime as a result of that weakness, that sentimentality. Megatron also knew that much of the injuries over his new berth mate’s body was retaliation for the humiliation Galvatron had suffered in that dark cell when Prime had defied him, over and over again.

 _Sentimentality is for fools._ _Such weakness would only lead to death or worse. The weak should parish so the strong can survive.  
_

Megatron looked down at Soundwave lying silent beneath him and knew himself for a hypocrite. Then he set his denta in determination and pressed their chest plates together. He gasped as their sparks mingled; his own hot and pulsing, Soundwave’s essence cold and lost in deep lucid dreams.

“Wake up, damn you. You are needed.”

 

* * *

 

The storm raged on through the late afternoon and into the evening, showing no signs of slowing its rampage.

Megatron was now seated on his throne in the command room, lost in thought.

The throne room was currently empty as most of his Decepticons had migrated to the inner sections of the ship. The outer hull was so pitted and rusted that it dripped and leaked everywhere. The sounds of dripping filled the metal corridors, as the ceilings of outer hallways began to leak inside. The fluid collected and rushed in little streams at the edges.

The Decepticon Supreme Commander’s domain was a dilapidated ship of rust, and he knew his grand empire for a morass of dark gray grit and ruin. His grim, inescapable reality was depressing, and he finally grew tired of watching the rain puddle around the bottom of his throne. It was too early yet to retire and amuse himself with Prime, however a welcome distraction that would be.

Instead, he decided to go for a walk.

Megatron passed the medbay first, nodding at a miserable looking Hook. The Constructicon was currently tethered by a long chain to the stalk of a thick medical berth. He could move around, but couldn't leave to go after anyone. They had relocated their meager amount of medical supplies into locked cabinets, so to avoid any more surprise attacks.

Deeper towards the back of the medbay, he could see Soundwave’s menagerie lounging and playing around the spy’s silent body. His attempt to wake Soundwave didn’t seem to have any effect, unfortunately. They didn’t see him, but that was fine.

Megatron continued his impromptu inspection as the dark sky angrily rumbled outside, rattling the thin plating of the ship around him. He could hear his Decepticons moving around, aggregating in several large common rooms, filling the chambers and halls with their boisterous, noisy presence. He could hear them chatting, joking, arguing, laughing, and shouting among themselves, intermixed with thumps and now crashes. The noise bounced and echoed off the walls along with a lot of cheerful yelling.

Someone had probably started a fight.

Yes, definitely a brawl. He could hear Swindle taking bets. They were still using credits with each other, though credits were defunct for them. There were no shops, no way to spend money, yet old habits die hard.

Megatron gave them only passing glances as he walked stately through his rusted domain. Seeing him pass, his soldiers saluted him or shouted greetings to him from inside the passages, and he raised his hand in return.

Then the sounds of a scuffle reached his audials, and he glanced into a side room.

The lone Sweep scout that had stumbled across their base is still tethered down and writhing under the attention it was receiving. It was merely a scout and after failing to get any useful information, he had authorized it for use as entertainment for the lower rank and file. At least the drone was useful for something. A massive puddle of various fluids coat the floor beneath it, and Blast Off and Octane were busy amusing themselves with its ports, their own equipment far too enormous for comfort. He caught a glimpse of the shuttle-former forcing his far-too-large spike down the intakes of the squirming Sweep as he passed by, and then gave the spectacle no further thought.

Onward he walked, and strode past the entrance to the mess hall, the massive wash racks, and then to the giant room used as a distillery.

He nodded at Astrotrain as he passed. The triple-changer was on night shift tonight making sure no one helped themselves to more than their share of energon. The triple-changer saluted him solemnly.

He stopped just long enough to frown over their meager stores of distilled yellow energon, and then continued on.

Everyone (including the command trine and himself) was currently on rations, two cubes each in the morning and at night. It was just enough to stay comfortable and combat ready. Of course any of them could go and drink from the pools and streams of proto-fuel outside, but the conversion was so slow that anything other than walking or running or the occasional transformation drained their energy stores far too quickly.

Decepticons were heavy combat machinery built for war, and warbuilds were fuel hungry by nature. The distilled energon allowed them to fire their internal weapons and Megatron was stockpiling the extra, preparing for an eventual attack against the Unicronians.

They all knew a faction war was coming, and most of them were eager for it.

Wandering down the corridors, Megatron watched as several of the seeker armada started to pair off for the night, doing Primus knows what to entertain themselves. There was plenty of space for everyone to have their own quarters, but mechs spend very little time there, as most have no possessions.

Sitting alone in an empty room was understandably unappealing.

Once again he considered going back and waking Prime for some entertainment to alleviate his own boredom, but decided instead to let him recharge. He was still deeply satiated from their activities that afternoon and Prime needed his rest.

Instead, he decided to go and visit Starscream and located the Air Commander in his quarters. Starscream had just stepped out of his small shower, and was surprised to see Glorious Leader at his door.

They ended up chatting about old times, old battles, and old takeover attempts.

Eventually Megatron got around to asking for what he wanted, and he was not surprised when Starscream refused to hand the rest of the gel over. Starscream smirked and told his leader he had far more use for it then his poor little frag toy did. After all, it was _his_ valve that took the most injury from Megatron. Hell, the first time they had interfaced, it had nearly killed him.

“You deserved that,” Megatron reminded him. “You had dumped me, critically injured, on the Junkion homeworld and left me to die. But I returned and reclaimed my legacy.” Megatron’s harsh expression smoothed over in satisfaction.

Starscream’s optics glazed over in memory. _Oh yes,_ he remembered. He would never forget that first punishment frag. It had been one for the ages.

“You certainly don’t seem worried about the state of my interface array," Starscream pointed out, "and Prime has offered you far more frustration and defeat then I ever have.”

“He wouldn’t come crawling back for more.”

Starscream snorted at that. _Whatever._

“What do I get out of this? After all, you are asking me to go without, you selfish bastard.” Another human term he'd picked up.

“What do you want?”

“Leadership of the Decepticons.” He smirked playfully.

Megatron just rolled his optics and didn’t even dignify that with a response.

“I want Hook dead.” Starscream’s red optics hardened vindictively.

“Impossible. He is still needed.” Megatron scowled down at his demanding jet.

“Double rations.” Starscream tilted his head hopefully.

“We are all on the same rations," Megatron said as he crossed his arms over his chest plates, starting to get suspicious. "You know we cannot distill the proto-fuel any faster.”

“Perhaps it would be _easier_ if you give me a _list_ of what you would be willing to provide me," and Starscream doubled down on the snark, "oh most _generous_ of leaders.”

Megatron scoffed. “A beating, if you continue to be difficult.”

“Well. There is one thing you have that I want…” The cheeky glitch looked down Megatron’s handsome body, red optics sly as he made a very suggestive gesture with his clever fingers.

Megatron narrowed his optics dangerously. After the slag he'd pulled that afternoon, he would dare ask for that? Wordlessly, Megatron took a step forward and loomed, daring Starscream to ask him. _Go on. Ask._

Starscream smirked, bared his razor sharp denta, and then did just that. He _was_ shameless after all, and victory goes to the bold.

... a little while later and Starscream watched as Megatron left for his quarters with the small tin, leaving Starscream standing in his wake with lips upturned in a victorious grin. After the door closed, his smirk widened gleefully as he pulled another tin out of his subspace.

He still had kilos of the stuff.

_Ha!_

Then he doubled over in sudden pain. _Slag, not again._ Cursing to himself, Starscream lunged back into the shower, and seconds thereafter came the sounds of a fuel tank being purged.

 

* * *

 

Optimus remained on the edge of the berth, uneasy.

He kept reaching down to probe his interface array with his fingers, and then nervously pulling back for the pain. His entire array was awash in spasms now, the calipers twitching in unhappy rhythms.

He rested his helm into his hands for the umpteenth time and tried to think. At least the fever was gone. But that was more proof that something had happened to him. He was under no illusions that the Decepticons would have left him unmolested in such a vulnerable state.

Optimus finally heard the sound he'd been dreading; heavy pede steps, slow and confidant, approaching the entrance of the chambers with purpose.

Then Megatron strode into the room as a lord returning to his manor, and if he was surprised to see Optimus already awake, he didn’t show it. He did smile at Optimus, an easy expression that seemed devoid of malicious intentions.

Optimus didn’t look convinced. He looked caged and wary, watching Megatron like a hunted beast might watch a tormentor. His ice-blue optics followed Megatron's every move as he walked around the room.

Megatron kept an optic on Optimus in return as he gathered a few cubes, including the one Optimus had never made it over to, and set them on the small table. He took a seat and started to drink one, regarding his captive with mild interest. He seemed to be waiting for something, and was not engaging Optimus at all, unexpectedly letting him have his space.

But when his captive didn’t speak or make any attempt to move, Megatron finally gestured at him to come over. Not quite a command, but close enough that he had to obey.

Optimus had to take a few moments to get his balance after he stood up, wobbling a little on his pedes. Finally, he felt steady enough to move and crossed the space between them, placing one reluctant pede after another as he must. He was careful to sit as far away from Megatron as he could while tucking his EM fields as close to his plating as possible to try and avoid mingling it with Megatron’s.

Megatron inclined his head towards the cube.

Optimus stared at the offering for a long moment, but now that Megatron was back, his hunger had taken a backseat to his anxiety. His desire not to be fed was stronger than his hunger and his low fuel levels. There was no way he could hold the cube steady and he didn’t want to be touched by the other mech if it could be avoided.

“My fuel levels are sufficient,” Optimus deferred and added, “I have not been moving much.” It wasn’t really a lie, depending on your definition of "sufficient". The coding tinged within him but then backed off.

Thankfully Megatron accepted that answer without comment.

Optimus sat in silence across from Megatron, keeping his helm down and staying quiet. He kept his optics mostly shuttered and didn’t return the gaze as the other regarded him thoughtfully, slowly drinking from his cube. Megatron’s fields speak of a deep satisfaction, and he seemed content to pass the time in contemplative silence.

Finally Optimus broke the long silence with a question. It was grating on his mind, and he needed to know. “Something happened today. Your Constructicon drugged me. I remember seeing Starscream in the doorway, but nothing after. What… happened to me?”

Megatron took a long draw from his cube, savored the taste, and answered. “Starscream intervened, and Hook has been dealt with.”

Optimus looked down at himself, at all of his telling aches and pain, and looked up at Megatron with questioning optics.

Amused, Megatron leaned back in his chair with a playful leer and answered the unspoken question. “Of course I did. Did you forget that you are mine? You needed my attention and you were most compliant. I enjoyed myself thoroughly.”

 _That explains much._ “You would.”

“I did. And so did you. You certainly made up for all the earlier thrashing. I had to drink two full containers of coolant after, just to replenish myself.”

Optimus didn’t answer that, but glared at his captor instead.

Megatron met his glare without even a flicker of shame in his field. He simply held his captive’s angry gaze until Optimus finally broke off the staring contest, dropping his head a bit and focusing on the shimmering yellow cube in front of him.

He no longer felt hungry.

…

 _This evening is turning out to be most enjoyable,_ Megatron thought and his razor smile was back as all of his previous boredom was gone. _This would be the perfect time for a little amusement._

He would greatly enjoy another round of interfacing, but he was still satisfied from the afternoon, so if his reluctant berth mate knocked himself out again it would be no great loss for the evening. While watching Prime avoid his gaze, something that had been lurking at his edge of his consciousness finally came to his attention.

So far he hadn’t seen Prime wince even once this evening.

_Curious._

“Come here,” he ordered Prime, and watched closely as his captive had to respond.

Prime swallowed, steeled himself, then braced his arms on the chair and stood up unsteadily. He took the four steps forward and looked down at Megatron, gaze calm and dignified, but his fields were filled with growing dread. He did not lurch or thrash or move away. Lancing pain did not fill his face, did not radiate out from his optics, did not send him crashing to the floor.

_How very curious._

“Turn around," Megatron commanded, "In a full circle.”

Prime gave him a quiet withering look, but then complied, movements slow and painful.

Megatron narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as Prime obeyed. Then he dropped his gaze down to Prime’s interface panel. He reached out a servo and tapped the panel.

“Open it.”

Prime closed his optics for a moment, and then complied.

His panel parted with a _snick._ He looked away, clearly wanting to be elsewhere but unable to do anything about it. He gritted his denta when he felt Megatron’s fingers gently stroke him, and then huffed when he felt Megatron run the thumb of a warm black hand down the full length of his slit.

But he didn’t look down or move, other then to close his eyes nervously when he felt a warm ex-vent across his array. A small noise burst into life and died in the back of his intake when a single flick of a warm glossa slipped across his outer exterior node. That tiny flicker of pleasure was nothing in the overall throbbing of his aching array.

 _Curiouser and curiouser..._ and Megatron cocked his helm. “Something has changed, hasn’t it?”

Prime swallowed again, but was compelled to answer. “Yes,” he said, reluctantly.

“Come here,” Megatron ordered him again, gesturing and parted one leg wider, to give the other mech room to move in.

"Have you no shame?" Prime asked, his face downcast.

"None at all, Prime."

Prime looked up to stare at Megatron's face and the small smile lurking there. Then he dropped his gaze to Megatron's intimate panels. They were currently closed, but for how long? He wanted to fight, but that wasn't an option anymore, and his words seemed to have no effect on his old adversary. He hesitated as long as possible, and then reluctantly obeyed, slowly kneeling down and falling to his knees.

Megatron grasped Prime and hauled him close, pulling him in between his legs. But he didn’t crudely shove Prime’s head toward his pelvic plating as the other was clearly expecting.

Instead, Megatron pushed Prime's helm into the crook of his thigh and hip, Prime's face plates resting on his hip plating, and then held him there firmly. Prime was left kneeling, knees bent, chest plates resting across Megatron’s lap. He seemed completely confused. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, finally setting them in the small space between the warlord’s outer thighs and the chair, fingers curling and uncurling.

A strong black hand wrapped around his blue helm, controlling it firmly, and began stroking a sensitive blue audial. Prime jerked a bit, feeling that uninvited, intimate touch. He was entirely unsettled.

Megatron ran the other hand, palm flat, against Prime’s back strut from the small of it all the way to the base of his neck. He electrified his servo plating and took a few moments to rub his now electromagnetically charged hand along the back strut in long, soothing energized strokes. He could feel his new berth mate stiffen with each firm caress, clearly anxious and only barely able to hide it.

Then Megatron chuckled and addressed the mech laying in his lap in a clear, commanding tone. “You haven’t winced once this evening. I touched you intimately and just ordered you into my lap and you obeyed. You even snipped at me and didn’t collapse onto the floor. Explain.”

Megatron continued the slow electric back massage as he waited for the response, while keeping his fingers firm around the helm of his old enemy. There were conflicting emotions in Prime’s weak field flowing around him, little flickers of pleasure intermingled with a great deal of anxiety. Prime’s field was further confused by Megatron’s stronger one, overlapping his and thrumming with satisfaction and a slowly growing desire. He could feel the normally stoic mech tense up even more and struggle against the words, but finally Prime choked them out.

“You told me I could keep my mind.”

Megatron's optics widened with surprise and then delight as the realization of the implications sank in. “Ah. I see,” he said, sounding pleased. “But that doesn’t explain why you are still in my lap now, with my hands on your plating and you are not thrashing around on the floor. Why did you not attack me?”

Megatron heard Prime swallow again as he was forced to answer.

“I was able to attack you because I was in so much… pain… that it drowned out the code’s ability to shut down my…ability to move," Prime said, and the words were stilted as the code forced him to give up the truth. "That is how I killed… damaged…Galvatron. I am not hurting so badly today. My mind is clear and so the code is more effective.”

 _It must have upset him to give that to me,_ and Megatron was most amused.

“Most interesting,” Megatron said, and his words sounded almost kind. “Thank you. That is useful information. Fortunately for you, I don’t desire to see you writhing around on the floor. At least, not in pain,” he corrected himself, his tone cheerful. “I have far better uses for you. Tell me, what do you think of that?”

“It is what I am afraid of.” Prime mumbled into the plating next to his mouth, unable to keep silent as he wished. “I don’t believe you. I fear being controlled by you will be far worse than Galvatron. He was just a mentally damaged bully. You are an entirely different sort of threat.”

“Compliments, Prime? I am flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

Megatron chuckled at that, but continued his exploration of Prime’s back strut. He could feel how Prime was only relaxing in tiny increments, clearly still expecting something dreadful to occur. Amused, Megatron moved his servos up Prime's neck cabling and began to work the tense metal there.

His array was hot now, and he knew he really shouldn't be working himself up like this. Under normal circumstances this would be the end of his play as he wouldn't continue for the state of Prime's equipment. He had initially only intended to test the coding, not start anything with his captive tonight. Prime really shouldn't take much more teasing, not after the extended activities from the afternoon.

But Starscream's little tin sat heavy in his subspace, rife with possibilities and Megatron's gaze turned speculative. Surely it didn't count as torture to take an injured frame, so long as no pain was inflicted? Especially if he took care to ensure Prime enjoyed it? It sounded good enough to him, and Megatron found himself unable to resist.

Patience really wasn't one of his strong suits.

Instead Megatron enjoyed himself immensely, savoring Prime's every little apprehensive movement while continuing his ministrations. He rubbed along Prime's tense back strut and stroked the neck cables soothingly, making sure to answer each fearful tremble and shiver with gentle pleasure, even as his lip plating curved into a predatory smile.

The moments stretched on as Megatron worked over the other frame until finally Prime couldn’t stand it anymore. “What are you going to do?” Prime asked. He kept his voice calm, but he could do nothing for the fear flooding through his EM fields.

“Mhn," Megatron murmured back to him. "I have a few ideas.”

Then he slipped his hand from his enemy’s back to his front. Down, down, and with his palm and fingers still electromagnetically charged, ran over the bare array between his captive’s legs.

Megatron held his hand there and let the energy flow into his anxious captive’s most intimate places.

Prime shuddered at the electromagnetic charge that jolted his array with a mix of pleasure and pain, but couldn’t pull away. He endured in silence as Megatron’s fingers entered him and judiciously smeared something inside him. The pain immediately began to diminish, leaving only pleasing sensation in its wake. He began shivering helplessly as the charged fingers sent light shocks of electric sensation into his valve and the pain receded completely. The tingling fingers lingered, moving inside him, each gentle, plunging stroke warming his internals.

Then Megatron withdrew, hooked his arms under Prime’s arms and lifted him up. He stepped away from the chair and carefully laid Prime down on the floor, on his back. He knelt over Prime while ordering him to lay quiet.

“You do look better,” Megatron murmured.

He could see soft blue biolights glowing a little stronger around his abused but still so lovely valve. He could taste the fear and dread and the mildest beginnings of unwanted arousal in Prime’s field, intertwining with his own lustful flickering. He took hold of one white leg and rotated it so to have better access to the array and settled down over his new berth mate.

Megatron was extremely pleased with Prime tonight. He was finally behaving himself, for once. Fortunately Prime had fallen into the best possible servos, considering his situation, and life didn’t have to be unbearable so long as he continued to submit. _I will prove that to you tonight,_ Megatron promised the shivering frame beneath him. _I will make sure you enjoy this._

This was so much more satisfying when Prime was fully awake and aware, and Megatron began to tease Prime's plating with charged hands, playing over the splayed out frame beneath him even as Prime turned his head, shuttered his optics and began to focus on his vents. He was clearly trying to mentally disengage from what was happening to him, but there was no ignoring this.

His body betrayed him, responding to the gentle touches of the warbuild above him of their own accord. Blue and red plating flared for his captor, the splayed legs trembled, and his ventilation increased as his internals began to heat up from the unwanted attention.

"We will take our time," Megatron rumbled into his captive's audial. "You are doing so much better today."

Prime huffed softly, but otherwise didn't respond.

Megatron steadily worked over his captive’s plating, and then ran the fingers of one servo over to tease at the outer anterior node, sending shocks of sensation into his captive's sensor net. He was gratified as Prime shivered for the pulsing pleasure those touches caused. He slowly replaced the fingers with his thumb, continuing his stimulation of the node while slipping his servos gently inside his captive.

Beneath him, Prime gasped and squirmed as thick fingers slicked themselves with his lubricant and began to move within him.

Megatron started sliding his servos in and out of Prime in a slow rhythm. His own engine rumbled in arousal as he stroked along the first ring of sensors until the smallest trickle of lubricant trickled back along his teasing fingers and finally dripped free. It seeped down along the crease in the soft valve mesh, assuring him that Prime was ready for him.

With a _snick,_ Megatron opened his own panel and extended his spike. Prime heard the sound and in-vented sharply, but otherwise didn’t move. "You can look if you want," Megatron teased his captive playfully. He knew Prime didn't remember his spike from their earlier interfacing.

Prime kept his optics shuttered, swallowing thickly. "You know I don't want this."

"You need it," Megatron answered firmly. "You need me to survive and as soon as you accept that, the better things will be for you."

Then Megatron slid into his unwilling companion for the third time that day, enjoying the wet slide of the slick metal mesh as he worked himself in, filling Prime's valve completely. He felt the other frame stiffen and tremble. He felt Prime react to taking his spike what, for him, was the first time. He heard Prime make a soft noise, and he could feel a heady mix of fear and a shock of pleasure pulsing though Prime's fields. The wonderfully slick passage felt cool to him, and he knew his own spike must feel burning hot to Prime.

He loved the feel of the other, and the reticent squirming beneath him was most arousing. He pulled out, and then slowly pushed back in, satisfied when Prime let out a soft moan and then clamped down on his denta, trying not to show much much his valve was enjoying his captor's efforts. He repeated the languid thrust, letting the other feel every ridge of the thick spike as he stimulated every internal node.

Then, still mindful of Prime’s dreadful injuries, he pulled in close and set a gentle, rocking pace. He mouthed at the neck cables, remembering how much Prime had enjoyed the touch that afternoon and was gratified when his captive in-vented at the feel of his nibbling mouth. He smiled into the plating of the other when he heard a small, strangled cry of pleasure slip past Prime's lips.

 _I knew you would enjoy this,_ Megatron thought confidently as his own arousal pulsed hotly through him. _You look good like this. You look so good beneath me._

Megatron felt a surge of delight and continued to take his time with the other, drawing out the slow build, enjoying every stuttered moan and soft gasp. He murmured in pleased surprise when Prime's calipers suddenly latched on to his spike and then clenched down furiously and Prime's squeeze on his spike sent fierce tingles up his sensor net.

Proof that Prime wanted him, under all those Autobot inhibitions, he was certain.

Megatron barely kept control of himself, resisting the urge to pound the clenching valve, but instead forced himself to move slowly and with care. He took his time and coaxed the trembling frame beneath him to his fifth overload for the day, counting the four from the afternoon. He felt the other body shudder and arch up off the floor. His captive helplessly released his charge around his throbbing spike, crying out for the surge of intense pleasure.

Prime fell back, shaking from the throbbing sensations. He flinched as he felt Megatron's charge and hot transfluid fill him moments later, and then laid beneath Megatron quietly, completely exhausted. There was a puddle of fluid beneath him now, and his breaths were deep and uneven, valve still rippling.

Megatron remained seated deep for many long moments, relaxing after the last of the blissful shivers eased. He relished the moment, the thrum of afterglow, and then tried to pull out, intending to take Prime with him into the side room for a good, hot shower. But Prime gave a sudden cry of surprise for the tug and frantically grasped him, fields churning with a mix of receding pleasure and sudden panic.

“How interesting,” Megatron murmured as he lowered himself back down, using his heavier weight to take full control of the frantic mech beneath him. His spike was still pressurized and seated deep within Prime. The calipers and valve walls had refused to release him, locking their frames together, unless he decided to pull out anyway. The result would be horrific and bloody, however, and he carefully settled his weight more firmly back down onto Prime to wait it out.

There was precedent for this sort of thing, but it was always related to fertility and gestation. Two fully compatible procreating frames could lock together to ensure transfer and conception, though the vast majority of currently living Cybertronians were infertile due to the far-reaching side effects of millions of years of war.

It was a throwback to an earlier, more primitive time.

“Prime,” Megatron asked, “Is your gestational chamber functional? Do you not have a bolt?” He sounded cautiously hopeful, because he was. This could change everything...

Prime’s dim blue optics slowly opened, and he looked up at Megatron, who was staring back down at him with sharp interest. “I am sterile. We all are, at least among the Autobots. There have been no newsparks born among us for many millennia.” Normally this was a source of sadness, but right now Prime was grateful he was unable to spark life as the horrifying consequences of being sparked by his new owner opened up a fresh wave of fear in him.

“I see,” Megatron answered, his gaze dropping. “So unfortunate. It is the same with my Decepticons. It seems we are meant to go extinct on this sorry excuse of a world.”

Megatron didn’t bother hiding his disappointment. He had gone through this exact same thing with Starscream a few months ago. They had been fiercely intimate while taking cover in a shallow trench right after a long lull in the fighting with Quintesson shock troops.

His Air Commander had been just as endearingly panicked as Prime was now when he couldn’t disengage from his leader. It was an attempt by their internal systems to ensure life, though ultimately futile. Starscream had assured him that he was infertile. He had been atypically gentle with the panicky jet and they had settled down under the protection of the shattered remains of a nearby building. Two sets of red eyes had glowed in the darkness there, one set fiercely vigilant, the other dreadfully anxious until their systems finally released each other.

Starscream had seemed embarrassed and tried to avoid physical contact after that, but Megatron had set him straight after a furious chase through the air culminated with a furious tussle on the ground. Every part of Starscream belonged to his leader, and avoiding said leader’s berth was not acceptable. They weren’t prudish Autobots, and he was not annoyed or offended by the workings of their confused frames.

He certainly wasn’t going to destroy his new berth mate. It had taken about an hour for him and Starscream to disengage. Megatron settled down to wait it out, fields pulsing good-naturedly.

This evening really _was_ turning out to be most amusing.

 

* * *

 

Optimus kept his death grip on Megatron’s hip struts, intakes swallowing occasionally, his frame cold and stressed and frightened. He knew that this had nothing to do with enamored frames and was a result of his captor irritating his injuries. All it would take to brutally damage him would be one rough motion, though Megatron didn't seem cruelly bent at the moment. His electromagnetic fields were filled with playful amusement and satiation, but Optimus had no faith in the mech buried to the hilt in his valve.

“Prime. Relax,” and Megatron finally gave that order after more than an hour had passed. He sounded concerned, as the duration was becoming unusual, hinting at a problem. His sense of concern increased when Optimus didn’t move, and his valve walls and calipers did not release Megatron's spike from their grasp.

“I cannot,” Optimus replied, sounding despondent as he lay shivering, cold even with Megatron pressed warmly to his front. The cold from the floor was too insipid, seeping deep into his protoform. His sensitive array refused to respond to his enfeebled attempts to relax, and they remained locked together. At this point, he was well and truly miserable.

Over the soft rattle of his shaking plates, Optimus heard Megatron sigh, and then felt Megatron's arms snake around him, gently gripping him by his hip struts. “Hold on,” Megatron ordered, and Optimus obeyed, weakly hooking his legs over Megatron's hips and wrapping his arms around the strong, silvery neck. “I assume your systems are too sluggish to properly relax. Recharge will surely help.”

Without another word, Megatron hefted him up and carried him to berth.

It was late now, and the temperature was dropping down to uncomfortable (though far from lethal) levels. He laid them out on the berth, careful not to jostle their joined arrays too much. It helped greatly that Optimus' entire array was currently painless from the gel. Another tolerant sigh, and Megatron settled atop him and began adjusting himself to a more comfortable position, careful to keep from aggravating Optimus' injuries too badly.

For his part, Optimus was too exhausted to say anything and slid into a fitful recharge as soon as his back was flat on the berth. They were still locked together when Megatron finally lost himself to recharge, spike fully extended and sheathed in blissful warmth.

 


	12. Sweeps, Sweeps Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Galvatron makes his first move, and figures out where his Autobot disappeared to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kinky opening scene (Optimus and Starscream grumbling over their shared warlord-related sticky situation got stuck in my head, so I wrote it out). Non-con sticky sex, _graphic_ punishment gang rape (Decepticons being Decepticons). Mildly graphic miscarriage which could be triggery.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments guys, I really appreciate it. :D

Prime was torn out of recharge by the sound of his own audial-piercing cry of pain.

It was morning, and they were still sprawled across the berth, still intimately attached. Megatron had just moved within him, trying to ease himself out. Unfortunately the medication had worn off and Megatron was reminded why he probably shouldn’t have indulged himself last night. Or the entire previous afternoon, for that matter.

_Ah, well._

Megatron hushed his now fully awakened and frightened captive, his heavy body still pinning Prime down against their berth. Megatron's connector twitched for the squeeze and began to pressurize, no matter how careful he was not to move. Cautiously sitting up, he did what he could not to jostle anything. He adjusted his hold and then carefully applied more gel, working his fingers into the valve rim around his still embedded spike.

“This is not a normal gestational amalgamation,” Megatron noted. He was frowning down at Prime questioningly. His captive's valve was still clenched tightly around his spike and he still couldn't free himself. It looked like he would need to comm for help, and he was not happy for it.

“No," Prime agreed, staring at the wall with a long-suffering expression. "My array was malfunctioning last night.”

Megatron's optics narrowed incredulously for the confession. “Why did you not say anything?”

“You were unaware I am damaged, _master?”_   Prime's tone was mild, but so very pointed.

“Hm.” Megatron suppressed a wince, as Prime did have a point. Perhaps he should work on exercising his sense of patience.

_Bah._

“You will address me as ‘Leader,’ Prime. You may also use my name in conjunction with any of my designations.” Megatron corrected him absentmindedly while bent over and carefully probing around in the space between their arrays with his fingers.

“Yes, Leader.” Prime forced out, wincing with each investigative touch.

Then there was a polite knock at the entrance to his quarters. Onslaught had heard Prime's pained cry, and being on corridor patrol, decided to check up on his leader just in case. He entered and took in the scene before him without any semblance of awkwardness or embarrassment and just asked Megatron if he required any assistance.

Megatron reluctantly ordered him to go collect Hook, frowning down at Prime as the squad leader left his quarters in haste.

"Unfortunate this connection cannot be not more fruitful, eh Prime?" Megatron's lip plating quirked at the thought. "I would dearly enjoy sparking life with you. Watching you waddle around my base would fill my days with great joy."

Swallowing thickly, Prime didn't dignify that with an answer and continued to study the wall. His lips pressed into a tight line while his sensitive valve clenched achingly around Megatron's length.

Megatron chuckled for his captive's reticence, but didn't press the issue. His good mood was short-lived, as he was not looking forward to dealing with his sorry excuse for a medic this morning. The last thing he wanted was the Constructicon anywhere near his sensitive interface equipment. He warmed up his fusion cannon in preparation for all the threats he would be delivering shortly.

Starscream walked in a few moments later, peeking around the bulkhead. His first morning energon cube was balanced all cheerful-like in his hand and he smiled sweetly at his entrapped and oh-so-inglorious leader.

“… Good morning … ?”

The Decepticon Supreme Commander just sighed.

***

Optimus kept his optics on the wall next to the berth, utterly mortified by the proceedings.

His energy levels were critical though. He realized he would have to ask Megatron for fuel or risk going into terminal stasis. His energy reading was currently at .8%, and final critical warnings were flashing over his internal display. His thirsty internal repair systems had spent all night sucking away most of his reserves, and the activity from the previous afternoon and overload from last night had further drained him. It didn’t help that he'd spent most of his captivity with Galvatron in a state of grinding starvation and the energon that the Decepticons make was such a very weak grade.

Optimus realized he had a choice to make.

He could actually offline due to his present condition (and thus free himself from his miserable situation) if he didn't receive fuel very soon, but if he allowed himself to slip away, then he would be abandoning Ratchet to his fate.

As the once matrix bearer (the treasured item now destroyed, sacrificed in the fight with Unicron the Destroyer) he had always had a link to the Well of Allsparks. His place in eternity was already prepared and waiting. The thought of death held no fear, not for him.

His depression had been deepening the longer he remained in captivity. Megatron’s constant displays of dominance over his frame and the threat of worse to come had done nothing to ease it. But thoughts of Ratchet continued to press in on him. He couldn’t imagine being abandoned on this merciless world, surrounded by enemies, left to face all the ages in dreadful isolation. Once again he rejected the easy way out.

“Lord Megatron-"

“You will remain silent for the remainder, Prime.” Megatron’s vocalizer was tense; his command clear and he allowed no argument. He wanted no distractions from his captive. Hook had just walked in, flanked by Onslaught and Motormaster, and Megatron’s electromagnetic fields flared with displeasure and aggression.

Optimus knew the feeling.

His own anxiety peaked as Hook’s optics light up at the sight of their exposed, conjoined arrays. Optimus' anxious field mingled and churned with the pulsing aggression he could feel in Megatron’s field above him... and it seemed that Megatron had just made his difficult decision for him. He had to obey that hasty order to be silent, and so his fate was on Megatron's helm now. Some tension deep inside Optimus relaxed. He may offline today, and he felt guilty that he didn't dread the possibility of dying, though only for Ratchet’s sake.

Optimus grimaced as more Decepticons arrived. Octane and a few of the other ‘cons started creeping into the room.

Megatron ordered them out, but several of them tried to refuse.

“Come on boss,” Octane said as he adjusted his internal blaster to a nonlethal - but very painful! - setting and then aimed it at Hook’s legs. “You stayed with me for my re-calibration. I owe you big fraggin’ time.”

Motormaster used hand signs to communicate above Hook's helm (so not to give the Constructicon any ideas). _If this fragger rips your spike out by the root,_ he warned, _you might not get it back._

Megatron scowled dangerously at Hook, who was lubing up his fingers and staring at the haplessly joined interface arrays like a starving sharkticon, and then he conceded. Yes, more guns would be just fine.

The air in Megatron’s quarters felt heavy with threat, but also flippant amusement.

Starscream flopped himself down on the edge of the berth, pointed a null ray at Hook, and then began teasing his leader about playing so rough with his toys. Megatron retaliated by bringing up their little incident back in the trench and how panicked he'd been.

_Sissy little jet._

Starscream idly reached out with his clever fingers and lightly tapped Optimus' valve rim to emphasize some point he was making to Megatron. His fingers then circled the base of Megatron's spike.

Optimus flinched for the casual touch and refocused his optics back on the wall.

Stewing in mortification, Optimus slowly came to realize there was no trace of shame or embarrassment in Megatron’s fields, only annoyance and aggression. There were even flickers of amusement when he sniped back at Starscream.

Optimus saw Starscream duck a light-sparked smack from Megatron out of the corner of his optic, and then surreptitiously watched Megatron as he adjusted his leg to allow better access to their joined arrays. His movements exposed the base of his spike buried to the hilt in Optimus’ valve, and he seemed unconcerned with the little trickle of trapped fluid seeping out.

Optimus flinched again when felt his valve tighten its squeeze around its invader and Megatron adjusted himself for a second time while absently patting Optimus on his hip strut, as if to be comforting. From the feel of his electromagnetic field Megatron clearly had no issue with his entire faction seeing his interface array and spike exposed in an intimate joining with his captive.

Optimus continued to stare at the berth wall while Megatron laughed, threatened, and chatted with his soldiers. _This is a different culture entirely,_ he realized, as there wasn't an once of shame, embarrassment, or humiliation in any of the Decepticons around him. If this sort of medical emergency had happened to any of his Autobots, they would have been treated with the utmost respect and privacy while receiving treatment.

Then Optimus winced when Hook callously hard-lined into his medical port. The feel of the mech was not good at all. An internal medical override was sent into his lines, and he felt his valve start to relax. He tried not to squirm as Hook started working his fingers into the space between spike and valve to work the calipers loose, even as the feel of Hook's fingers became less than professional. His mortification rapidly began to tighten into irritation, and he slowly clenched his fists as Hook continued to take liberties while working on their intimate equipment.

Megatron snarled something at Hook. He, too, could feel the disrespectful touches along his sensitive spike plating and didn't appreciate Hook's enjoyment of their predicament.

Octane took the opportunity to fire a few pain-shots into Hook’s thick green back plates to back up his leader’s threats. But shortly thereafter there was yet another unacceptable wiggle of fingers, and Optimus heard Megatron strike Hook, ordering him to stay focused.

Then Hook maliciously squeezed one of his calipers, and Optimus violently twisted his leg around and furiously kicked him in the face plates. There was a roar of support from the Decepticons around him, and Megatron looked down at him with approval and laughed.

Motormaster kicked Hook in the skidplate while yelling at him to behave his fragging self, "--this is our leader you fragger!"

Starscream took the moment to slide up behind Optimus, hooking his sleek legs around Optimus’ arms to keep him from further interfering with the medical procedure. "Throttle down," Starscream murmured to Optimus, who was now half-settled in his lap. Starscream flicked his wings in amusement. He tried to slip a finger into Optimus' mouth to check his temperature, but Optimus jerked his intakes away with an unhappy rumble. He didn't have to take that from Starscream, and didn't intend to.

Fortunately Hook seemed more focused on Megatron’s equipment.

Megatron was less than thrilled, and his vicious retaliatory strikes picked up in pace and intensity. They _were_ loosening though. When not being a glitch, Hook did know what he was doing. Finally, Megatron was able to pull free, his spike slipping out with a wet sound. Optimus immediately snapped his interface panel closed.

Starscream eased his grip on his arms and Optimus hurriedly ripped out Hook's cabling inserted in his medical port. He curled his lower body towards the berth wall, closing his legs in relief as Megatron sat up, unabashedly inspecting his spike for damage with one optic, while openly admiring the lovely afts of his two favorite mechs, currently on display in front of him.

Hook suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Megatron by his spike and did something to the base of it with his fingers, all in the same instant.

Megatron jerked and looked down at the disrespectful hand on his most intimate piece of equipment, utterly flabbergasted, and then what Hook had done came into effect. Hook jerked on the emptying spike and Megatron fell back with a roar of furious disbelief.

Octane fired a few more pain-shots while Onslaught and Motormaster lunged for Hook.

Hook was aiming for Optimus, but missed. Starscream had his head bent over Optimus’ face plates and was in the midst of asking him about his fuel levels. Due to the proximity the Air Commander took a face-full first. The jet sputtered, and Optimus got the second wave right over his optics, though he managed to close them just in time.

Megatron ripped the tightly gripped servos off his spike before any real damage could be done, and kicked the Constructicon away from him. Optimus froze in disbelief as howling pandemonium broke out around him.

“Cannot **believe** you just-"

“-the **frag** you think you are-"

The sounds of a damned good beating filled the air, and above that was the sound of entirely unrepentant cackling.

“-glitching son of a-"

“Somebody just kill that slagger!” Starscream shouted over the din, his wings flared in a mix of excitement and irritation.

Keeping his optics closed, Optimus huffed at the utter ridiculousness of it all. The coding had released its grip on his vocalizer as the duration his master had indicated seemed to be up.

“Does this happen to anyone else,” Optimus muttered to himself, still blind as he kept his optics squeezed shut for the hot transfluid dribbling down his face plates, “Or have I fragged off the Unmaker at some point?”

Words couldn’t seem to describe the sheer ludicrousness of the situation.

“All the slagging time, actually.”

Starscream’s voice was cheerful as he ruefully pulled out a rag, wiped off his face plates, and then pressed it into Optimus’ hands. “Welcome to my functioning. Regretfully it seems we are surrounded by pit-spawned glitches.”

Optimus rumbled in agreement and cleaned off his plating as best he could, but his hands were shaking badly. His fuel gauge read .3% and final shutdown warnings would be cluttering his internal displays if he had not already shut them off. In the background, he could tell the beating was over, but Megatron was still roaring threats into Hook’s face. It didn’t seem to be having much effect on the snickering Constructicon.

Starscream glanced over at the still-living Hook regretfully. “Don’t blame me,” he said quietly to Optimus, “I’ve been for killing the fragger since this started. Our pit-spawned leader insists we need him.” Then he took the rag back from him with a frown while carefully looking him over.

“What’s your fuel reading?” Starscream repeated his question, “You look depleted.”

Optimus didn’t respond as he was not required to obey the seeker.

Instead, it was Hook’s voice that floated over the room in answer. “It was .5% a breem ago. Critical shut down should be in a few astro-seconds.” He returned his attention back to his leader, now nodding seriously at every snarled threat. He seemed completely unperturbed by the homicidal warlord currently waving his fully charged fusion cannon in his face plates.

There was stunned silence for a long moment as the percentage and its consequences sunk in.

“Fragged into stasis. Damn.” Onslaught laughed off to the side, shaking his helm ruefully.

“Hook..." Megatron face-palmed in irritation and then scowled at his glitched medic. "Did you not think this might be something to bring to my attention?” Hook didn’t answer and shrugged instead.

Megatron looked over at his captive. “You told me your fuel levels were sufficient.” His expression was dangerous.

“I did try to ask for fuel this morning,” Optimus answered mildly, hoping to defend himself and maybe avoid any creative punishments. “You told me to be silent for the duration.”

Megatron snorted at that, unmoved. “Give him a cube. Octane, take Hook back to the medical bay and bind him back on his tether. I grow tired of this.”

 _So much for that plan,_ Optimus thought to himself, caught halfway between disappointment and relief as he watched Onslaught bring over a cube for him and handed it to Starscream. He relaxed a fraction when Starscream carefully poured the contents down his intakes. It did taste wonderful. He was still enjoying the sweet taste on his glossa when every single mech in the room suddenly burst into noisy cheers, back slaps, and high fives.

Everyone but Starscream and Megatron, anyway.

Optimus glanced up at the annoyed-looking mech still positioned behind him in confusion.

“Oh frag me,” Starscream muttered, looking over at his leader with quiet dismay. Things had just gotten much more complicated for him.

Megatron was standing in the middle of the room and grinning cheerfully, every line of his frame speaking of pleased satisfaction.

…Soundwave had finally awoken from his coma.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon found Megatron sitting on his throne, utterly pleased with himself. Soundwave was too weak yet to leave the medical bay, but it was only a matter of time before the communications officer was back on his pedes.

Megatron had spent a few hours with his old friend, filling him in on their current situation. He had waved off Soundwave's stilted but fervent thanks for saving his life. Apparently the cassettes had told him how Megatron's daring rescue had freed him from the Quintessons, and of his protection from salvage thereafter when the spy had seemed utterly lost to coma.

They had also mentioned to him of Prime's protection during the harrowing journey to this world. That had taken the blue spy aback, and even more so when Megatron confirmed it was true. He explained that Prime was one of them now, but refused to provide further details. Megatron suspected that Soundwave wouldn't approve of his keeping Prime for himself, but that was an argument for another day.

Soundwave's visor had flickered in exhaustion not long after and Megatron had ordered him to rest. Taking his leave of the medbay after a warning look at the tethered Hook, he had seated himself on his throne for the rest of the afternoon, spark thrumming in deep satisfaction.

Megatron was in the midst of preparing a list of improvements to the base for Soundwave to start work on (as soon as he was able) when the sound of rushing pede steps caught his attention.

Onslaught hurriedly advanced towards him and knelt before him.

“Lord Megatron.”

He gestured for the Combaticon to dispense with formalities. “Report.”

“The Sweep we were keeping captive … it’s gone.”

Megatron hissed. “What do you mean, gone?”

“It must have chewed through its chains somehow. We aren’t sure how long it has been missing, but we think it happened last night. Motormaster was the last one to see it, and that was before mid-evening.”

Megatron glowered, baring sharp denta. He was instantly furious at the lapse in security, but there was nothing that could be done now. The implications of the escaped scout were crystal clear to him.

Onslaught shared his sentiment if not his expression. He continued his report.

“This would mean that-“

“-the Unicronians now have the location of our base.” Megatron finished for him.

“Call an assembly,” Megatron ordered. “I want everyone not on defensive postings to attend. The Unicronians are on their way. We will be prepared for them.”

 

* * *

 

The Decepticons funneled out of the throne room in noisy groups.

The briefing had been deathly serious and High Command had made it clear to the Decepticon warriors that they were outnumbered five to one and that an attack would be imminent. And yet the mood among the rank and file as they left was cautiously optimistic, and many of them were even eager for the upcoming conflict.

They were the Decepticon Elite now, all of them. They had all passed the test for last-mechs-standing and their confidence in themselves and each other ran high. They were built for war, it was the only way of life they knew, and they were damned good at it.

As they left they could hear the standard, reassuring sounds of tactical strategies being debated by High Command: Megatron and Starscream arguing furiously with each other over their next course of action.

Megatron was lounging on his throne and snarling at his second while tapping his fingers on the armrest. The Air Commander was snapping back at him, leaning aggressively forward and getting in his leader’s face plates with his wings fully flared and flicking.

Megatron was in favor of an immediate full frontal assault of the enemy base while Starscream was pointing out - at the top of his vocalizer range - that due to the enemy’s far superior numbers, it would be better to let them come to the Decepticons for the first few battles. That way the ‘cons would have the advantage of their base defenses.

Soundwave was still recovering in the Medbay, surrounded by his merrily cavorting cassettes, but he was listening in via internal comms to the furious quarrel aka tactical debate.

The rest of the soldiers immediately set to work to prepare the base for the upcoming assault (while further reassured by the familiar sounds of High Command coming to blows in the background). Megatron had ordered the pathetic outer corridors of the ship be completely filled in with rock, so to provide some actual protection. The plating as it stood now could almost be walked through, it was so debilitated. It would offer no barrier against marauding Unicronians.

Chatting animatedly amongst themselves, the Decepticons got to work hauling heavy rocks and stones.

After working out a tactical plan that didn’t leave his Air Commander in hissy fits, Megatron went out and joined his troops in their work. He didn’t believe in clean, pretty servos, and everyone has to pull their weight.

Megatron, Blast Off, Octane and Astrotrain worked together to haul the heaviest rocks into the base, and the work proceeded in determined haste.

Starscream took his Armada and diligently patrolled the skies, keeping close optics on the horizon. He was the only one who hadn't visited Soundwave in the Medbay. Not that Soundwave was complaining.

They were all on double and triple shifts. Megatron returned to his quarters only intermittently to shower himself and feed his captive berth mate, who was finally allowed to sleep entirely undisturbed due to his serious injuries.

Their hard labor was rewarded two days later, before the sun had set, when an assault did finally come. But it was not led by the Unicronians.

Razorclaw had picked the worst possible time to make his move. Sick of scrounging around the edges of rival territories, he and his pack had stealthily made their way towards the Decepticon base. He'd had intended to take his small pack of four, (himself, Rampage, Divebomb, and Headstrong) slip in surreptitiously and take out Megatron, claiming the base for themselves and ruling the remaining Decepticon forces with iron talons.

Instead of finding a lax base, the metal lion and his pack had padded into a fully manned, highly alert Decepticon defensive fortress.

Razorclaw was no fool.

The plating at the back of his neck soon flared in alarm after he and his pack found themselves roving deeper and deeper into the old ship without a single ‘con to be seen in the hallways or rooms. Suspicious, he called off the attack and ordered a retreat.

_Too late._

The hidden Decepticons pounced, and the Predacon pack found itself under siege.

A flash of heavy silver plating amidst the attacking ‘cons and a cultured voice booming welcome told them all just how badly they had bungled their sneak attack. The two mechanical cats managed to tear themselves away. Their superior agility served them well, and they fled into the approaching evening.

Divebomb and Headstrong were not so fortunate.

 

* * *

 

It was a slow march to wakefulness.

First his audials came online, and then his optical feeds as he slowly opened his eyes. Optimus looked around, but Megatron’s quarters were thankfully still empty.

He was alone.

The last thing he remembered was drifting off as the Decepticons were leaving Megatron’s quarters to go welcome Soundwave back to the land of the conscious. Checking his chronometer, he realized with shock that two full days had passed. Being left alone to sleep had done wonderful things. He felt better than he had in some time. The fever was on its way back, but his wounds had sealed over and his body felt a little sturdier.

His fuel tanks were full to the brim. He realized he must have been recently fed; he could still taste a mixture of yellow energon and raw proto-fuel under his glossa. He swallowed a few times, working his intakes while enjoying the taste. His actual energy levels were much lower as the proto-fuel took such a long time to convert. But his fuel tanks were deliriously happy with their contents and he didn’t feel any hunger.

There was a thermal blanket wrapped snugly around his abdominals, and shifting his lower body a little, he could tell his entire array had been generously medicated recently.

There was some strength back in his hands now, and he flexed them, looking over his fingers.

He sighed and leaned back flat on the berth, actually almost comfortable for once. It was already evening, and Megatron would be returning soon. He in-vented, and then worked his mind over his situation again.

Any hope for a quick escape was rapidly fading. It had now been almost a week since his capture by Megatron. He prayed to Primus that Ratchet was still alive, and focused his thoughts back on himself.

 _He said he enjoys my struggling and as long as I continue to entertain him then he will stay focused on me._ He realized to not struggle against Megatron would mean playing along with him. And that could be dreadfully invasive and humiliating. He could, and most likely would be ordered to do all manners of unpleasant things.

 _He is going to take what he wants anyway,_ Optimus realized. Their last encounter had proven that. _All I can do is try to minimize damage to myself._

 _He thinks I should feel grateful, that he is doing me a favor._ Optimus frowned. He was far from grateful for all of the domination games Megatron was playing with him and the forced interfacing.

_I may have to act grateful. Gain his trust as a helpless slave or at least lose his interest. Gather what supplies I can steal and win freedom of movement. Take the first chance to escape that presents itself._

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he escaped and found Ratchet. The coding would offline him if he stayed away from Megatron for too long. _That may be my fate,_ he thought. _At least then I will leave this life free, with some dignity._

But he felt better having some sort of strategy, even if it was a dreadful one. He simply had no better options at this point. He was resigning himself to his less-than-ideal plan when he heard pede steps approaching.

The door to Megatron’s quarters opened, and Onslaught strode in.

“Can you walk?”

Optimus looked down at himself for a moment.

“…Yes.”

“Good, then follow me. The boss wants you.”

He was to get his first glimpse of the Decepticon base outside of Megatron’s quarters, apparently.

Gathering himself, Optimus stood up and slowly followed Onslaught out the door.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was pleased to see Onslaught enter the throne room with a cautious Optimus Prime in tow. Onslaught directed the Prime towards the throne, and then split off to join the rest of the Decepticons milling around the room.

The festivities were just about to begin, though the guest of honor tonight looked less than enthused.

Divebomb was chained by one pede to the floor with a long tether, looking around the room suspiciously. Spiraling through his intakes and circling once around his helm was a very small, delicate looking chain. Not enough to cause any trouble for him, or impede any sort of movement or ventilation, but fully lethal if he tried to transform into his beast mode.

Headstrong was also present, but he was unchained, leaning against a wall and working on his second cube of energon, completely ignoring his fellow Predacon. Mechs were slapping him on his shoulder as they passed, and he nodded sullen greetings back at them.

Ironically given his name, he had been pardoned because as soon as his back plates had hit the floor he had given himself up for dead and thrown himself upon Megatron’s mercy. The sight of the two Predacon cats leaving him to his fate helped, too.

He wasn’t the brightest energon stick in the pack, but he knew better then to cross his old leader, especially when Megatron had placed a heavy pede on his chest plates and started pressing his weight down punishingly, looking down at him with those brilliant red optics, and asking in that oh-so-cultured tone what Headstrong was doing in his base…?

Divebomb had not been so wise. He had cursed Megatron and kept fighting, and had to be bound and chained.

He was far too stubborn and proud for his own good, tonight.

Night had fallen, and with its creeping, lethal chill ensured that there would be no incoming attacks tonight to disturb the merry-making. Inside the throne room the evening cold was driven away by so many heated, excited frames jostling in a large semi-circle around the throne and chained Predacon.

The other Decepticons were gathered, having collected their rations and bringing their cubes with them for the show. Their cheerful voices echo off the walls of the room as the sounds of a really good party were just beginning.

“Starscream,” Megatron thundered from his throne, “Read out the charges.” They shared a rancorous grin, and then Megatron turned his attention to his worried-looking Autobot.

Megatron gestured for Prime to join him, servo motioning at the ground next to his pede.

He was pleased to see Prime lower his helm and approach without hesitation, kneeling next to him and then sitting at the foot of his throne. Megatron squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and grinned down at him, and then returned his attention to his grandstanding Air Commander as he read out Divebomb’s transgressions against the Decepticons.

Prime looked up at the assembled Decepticons, and kept his original cautious expression. He did not seem to like the look of the crowd.

The list of transgressions was rather short (the worst being attempted assassination of Megatron) and so Starscream padded it out for fun, and then finished with, “Divebomb, how do you plead?”

“Frag you,” Divebomb snarled back. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, no matter how one-sided. He had missed the subtle undertones from the mechs around him and assumed he was here to be beaten to a scrap.

Headstrong huffed into his cube, shaking his head. The rest of the ‘cons cheered and smirked at each other in anticipation.

Starscream grinned merrily at the accused, and Megatron stood up and addressed the crowd of cheering Decepticons. “I pronounce you guilty,” he gestured grandly at Divebomb and the gathered ‘cons roared happily, “with punishment to be delivered immediately.”

“Divebomb,” Megatron addressed the glowering rogue Predacon, his booming voice resounding over the sounds of his noisy warriors, “Let it not be said that I am entirely unmerciful to my own. If at any point you have had enough, you need but call out for my mercy, and it will be given.”

There were a few boos and hisses at that, quickly hushed by the other ‘cons. _Wait for it._

Megatron lifted his head, mouth curved in a vicious smile. He looked over the gleeful crowd and made a very lewd gesture with his servos, indicating his viewing preference for the upcoming spectacle.

A delighted roar from his Decepticons followed Megatron as he strode towards his throne. Stalking back as a self-satisfied predator, Megatron settled himself back down as Prime looked up at him in confusion. Prime had missed the gesture as Megatron’s back plating had been turned to him.

But Divebomb hadn’t.

His intakes dropped open in shock as he finally clued in to what his punishment was going to be. “No, wai-“ His yell was cut short as Astrotrain dived at him and forced his fist into the Predacon’s mouth to stop him from speaking and the crowd lunged at him.

Megatron grinned and leaned back. Getting comfortable, he pulled a cube from his subspace and prepared to watch the show.

Prime watched in growing concern as the furious Predacon voraciously fought the horde closing in around him. He turned to Megatron. “What is happening here?”

“Punishment,” was the satisfied reply.

“Punishment.” Prime repeated the word. “It should never be a spectator sport.” Megatron smiled to himself. _Over sensitive Autobot._

Megatron took a sip of his cube.

“I completely disagree,” Megatron said, not taking his optics off the battle, “It is far more effective as a group activity. Speaking of punishment, I have decided what to do in regards to your own transgression.” He flicked his gaze over to Prime.

“What?” Prime looked up at him, startled.

He took another sip of yellow energon, swirling the contents before answering.

“Such a carefully chosen word … “sufficient” … it could have cost me your delightful company. Tell me, would you have allowed yourself to offline?” and Megatron's harsh gaze flicked sharply towards his captive.

Prime looked away. “…yes.”

“I see. Well then, you have just lost the privilege of fueling yourself. I will be feeding you from this point forward ... and I order you to warn me if your fuel lines drop below half, no matter what my current, _unrelated_ orders are. Understood?”

“Yes... Leader.” Prime ground out the acknowledgement. Megatron knew he hated being fed. Megatron smiled, his dominance reestablished, and returned his attention back to the proceedings.

At his pedes, Prime’s optics widened in alarm as the true nature of the show became clear.

***

Optimus watched in distress as Divebomb fought as hard as he could for as long as he could, and then faltered and fell. After awhile he stopped trying to kick off the ‘cons using every interface port on his lower frame but focused on trying to get the spike, currently Motormaster’s, out of his intakes so he could beg for the mercy that everyone knew he would immediately receive if he could just get the words out of his vocalizer.

That was half the fun, because the vicious ‘cons all around him were dead set on making this last all night, and were carefully taking turns driving deep into Divebomb’s aching intakes, never letting him have more than an instant with an empty mouth as they switched places. He had purged his fuel tanks around someone’s spike at some point, and the ‘cons around him were hard at work refilling it.

Their ex-vents were steaming with heat, puffing out in vapory clouds and the sounds of scraping, clashing frames, choking, groans of pleasure and wild cheers from the spectators filled the room.

Optimus felt spark-sick. He had looked down and shuttered his optics early on during the punishment, but he couldn’t tune out the sounds. This was beyond anything he had ever witnessed in his long life, and he wished he could scrub his optics and audials clean of the sight.

There was a roar and a scuffle as apparently Divebomb was up and fighting again, though he was not yet free enough to clear his intakes.

Optimus ignored the black fingers idly tracing his audial. He was resolved to acting the part of a dutiful slave, but he wasn’t sure if he could force himself into the role even as part of a plan to free himself. This was…obscene.

“You don’t look like you are enjoying yourself.” Megatron murmured to him as he pinched an audial playfully. His fields were fully extended and brushing against Optimus and his thrumming arousal was very evident.

Optimus looked up at the silver warbuild on his throne, and dropped his helm back down. That was an observation and not a command, and he chose not to answer. There was nothing he could do or say that could stop this, anyway.

“Perhaps I can cheer you up. This is a party after all. Come.”

That _was_ a command.

Optimus reluctantly turned around to face Megatron and climbed to his pedes. He was pulled into Megatron’s lap a moment later. Megatron wrapped thick black servos around him, squeezing his aft. Then he freed one servo to stroke his captive’s interface panel.

"Open this," Megatron ordered with a lascivious grin.

“Here?” Optimus threw a look over his shoulder in alarm, and then abruptly wished he hadn’t... Divebomb's optics were shuttered in misery and he was purging his tanks again, this time around Octane’s spike. His own fuel tanks roiled dangerously at the sight.

“Of course here," Megatron rumbled in amusement. "Where else? We could go back to my quarters, but then who will pardon poor, murderous Divebomb... assuming he ever gets a chance to ask for it?”

Optimus swallowed at the jovial response, and then opened his panel as ordered.

He opened his mouth to argue against these sickening proceedings and then abruptly shut it. Though he had no idea what turn of events had led to this sentence and punishment, he knew humiliation fragging was a time honored punishment among Decepticons. His spark ached, but he had his own serious problems and he had to focus on that now, for Ratchet’s sake.

He dropped his helm as Megatron pulled him closer and began to stroke his bared array. Optimus winced as black servos traced the slit and teased at his sensitive  nub, and he tried not to squirm at the sensation the fingers left in their wake. Megatron continued to explore him, one servo still cupping his aft as the other played with his exposed array, while behind him the punishment continued in the background.

"You must admit that dear Divebomb will be thinking twice before trying another stunt like this," Megatron's vocalizer grew dark with satisfaction. He flicked his optics back to the spectacle for a moment, then returned his attention to the naked port before him. He traced a reluctant trickle of lubricant from his captive's slit and smeared it between his fingers, tasting them with a grin, optics bright with arousal.

Optimus' optics went wide for a moment, startled at the sheer audacity of the other mech. Megatron truly had no shame. “I see that you are right," Optimus choked out the words, playing the part of a slave even as his spark quailed. He somehow managed to keep from sounding like they bothered him as much as they did.

 _Think of Ratchet,_ Optimus reminded himself. He was expendable in his own estimation. Ratchet was not. His duty to his Autobots came first.

Apparently that was the right thing to say (or entirely the wrong thing, depending on how you look at it) because Megatron’s aroused fields instantly shot through with lust and he pulled Optimus harder against him and opened his own panel.

Off to the side, Starscream watched his leader playing with his frag toy with amusement.

Megatron then spun them both around, and forced Optimus’ back plating against the backrest of his throne. His spike was erect and ready, and Optimus found himself staring down at it for the first time. It was silver with glowing red etching, well shaped and ... substantial. Megatron grinned at him, realizing Optimus was actually looking him over this time, his tight expression filled with alarm and trepidation.

Feeling playful, Megatron held himself still for inspection, his plating flared in a mix of amusement and arousal.

Optimus looked up at the red optics gleaming down at him, Megatron holding his gaze with a wicked little smile. Then Megatron dipped his helm down and threatened Optimus' mouth with a kiss and he pulled back barely in time. Megatron was still grinning as he smeared his lubricants down his spike with one swift motion.

At least his exposed valve was shielded from prying optics by Megatron’s large build. _Small mercies,_ Optimus thought, though he was still filled with dismay. He hated being open and exposed like this.

“Spread them,” Megatron ordered, watching with anticipation.

Optimus silently obeyed and threw his legs out either side of the throne and then hooked them behind the thighs of the other as he moved in. Megatron looked extremely pleased. Then he grabbed Optimus by his hip struts, tilted him for better access, and plunged firmly into his exposed valve.

Optimus threw his head back and groaned as the spike thrust deeply into him. Megatron filled him to the hilt, but thankfully he had been medicated recently, and Megatron was dripping with lubricant from the spectacle. In the coldness of the room, Megatron felt burning hot, inside and out.

For a long moment Megatron held himself still, allowing Optimus a few moments to adjust to his impressive girth. Less in kindness and more that Megatron was reveling in the feel of Optimus so subdued before him. Optimus suspected that, for Megatron, this moment was nothing less then a oft-held memory-flux come true.

Controlling himself, Megatron could feel Optimus' valve stretch for him, adjusting to his spike as calipers clenched down and snapped into place. He hissed in delight at the feel of the tight valve around his spike and more pre-fluid streamed from him. Pulling back for a moment, he relished the slide and then surged back hard.

Megatron bit gently down on his captive's neck and set a firm pace, plunging his spike over and over into the soft metal valve.

Fortunately for Optimus there was enough lubricant for comfort as Megatron pushed into him again and again, pulling Optimus' hip struts towards him with each movement. He shuddered for the pleasure of building charge, squeezing Optimus between his own powerful frame and the back of the throne.

Megatron was still very restrained, but his thrusts were _much_ firmer than before. Optimus hissed softly in alarm at the steady movements, knowing that without the medication he would be in intense pain. But he found he was medicated enough that he could take the firmer thrusts and his array even began to pool heat and charge.

 _It is a taste of things to come,_ Optimus thought as apprehension mingled with pleasure, setting his sensor net alight. He was certain it was just a matter of time before Megatron became violent towards him.

Megatron and _gentle_ didn’t belong in the same sentence, as far as he was concerned.

Megatron's powerful engine rumbled deeply as he fully enjoyed his domination over his captive. His fingers possessively squeezed Optimus' aft as he pulled him into each thrust while using his greater mass to keep Optimus pinned to the back of the throne. Their mingled lubricants dripped down their legs and puddled on the throne beneath them.

Optimus swallowed a moan, embarrassed for the wet sounds of well lubricated metal echoing in his audials. He kept his lip plating clamped shut while Megatron buried his helm into his neck, his rolling thrusts growing feverish with rising tension and pleasure.

Megatron obviously didn't care who saw him frag, but Optimus certainly did. He choked back his gasps of unwanted pleasure, keenly aware of the Decepticons around them enjoying the display. Motormaster in particular was nearby, standing just a little too close, watching Megatron frag his captive with an intense expression.

Optimus shuttered his optics as his traitorous valve was clenching tightly around the incredibly pleasing spike. He soon found himself strangling back soft cries as he started to peak.

Megatron overloaded first, already deeply aroused by the spectacle around them. He pushed in _deep_ and held, shuddering powerfully, squeezing Optimus tightly against his hot array. His throbbing spike released transfluid in burning pulses and the charge hit Optimus’ array hard. He threw his helm back and helplessly bucked against the rush of sensation as it pushed him over into his own overload.

Megatron rumbled his satisfaction in Optimus' audial and watched as he kept his optics shuttered. Megatron moved within him a few more times, his spike's slow drag drawing Optimus' ebbing pleasure out just a little more. He shivered and Megatron answered him with an amused chuckle.

Megatron trailed a teasing nibble along the main energon line in his neck, leaving a light trail of oral fluid, and then reluctantly retracted his spike. Optimus closed his panel instantly, trapping the hot fluid within him, not wanting an embarrassing dripping mess of transfluid down the front of his armor and legs.

Megatron grinned at him and then turned them back around towards the party. He threw a leg over the armrest of his throne and sprawled himself comfortably. Then he readjusted Optimus in his lap until his back plating was resting against Megatron’s front. He took ahold of one of his captive’s thighs and bent it back and wide; splaying out the closed interface plating in what would have been a lewd display.

Megatron kept his servos wrapped around his captive’s thigh and dropped his other hand to his captive’s closed interface panels, playfully tracing them, to Optimus’ alarm.

He returned his attention towards the thrashing retribution still going strong in the middle of the room, a strangled shriek escaping from the middle of the throng of mechs. Optimus recoiled at the desperate sound. Divebomb had managed to clear his intakes just long enough to scream, finally. Megatron turned his head and nuzzled the side of his captive’s face plates. “What do you think, Prime, does that count?”

“Please,” Optimus said into his audial, the nearness an intimacy, hoping to convince him to be merciful. The sounds drifting over to them made him spark sick. Megatron closed his optics in consideration for a moment, and then sat up.

“Enough!” Megatron roared.

Following his command were sounds of shuffling, disappointed grumbling, and an exhausted frame hitting the floor along with frantic sounds of purging.

“Divebomb? Have you something to say?”

Divebomb choked and sputtered, and then answered between coughing fits. “Mercy…lord… I yield… I wish only …to serve you.” He dropped his helm back into the mess on the floor and continued to purge until there was nothing left, and then started dry heaving. Several mechs attempted to pull Divebomb to his pedes, and he punched furiously at them, driving them away.

“Very well,” Megatron’s voice boomed out over the crowd. “I pardon your assassination attempt. You will take your place among my soldiers.”

“Blast Off, bring Divebomb what he needs to clean up this filthy mess.” The shuttle-former saluted his leader and leapt to obey.

Megatron returned his attention to the mech in his lap, squeezing the blue and red mech a little closer. “You are being so well behaved lately. Should I ask whatever for?” Megatron watched him shrewdly.

“If I behave,” Optimus answered carefully, “Perhaps my leader will continue to be generous and allow me to move around as I please.”

Megatron’s fields pulse with enjoyment at that. Another good answer.

“Why don’t you ask me nicely?”

 _This is going to kill me,_ Optimus thought, and then he dropped his head, hesitating until permission was given in the form of parted lips, and then surrendered to Megatron the kiss that had escaped him earlier.

 

* * *

 

Optimus walked slowly through the debilitated base that next afternoon, careful to stay to the side and not get in the way of the larger, stronger mechs that surged around him on their way to whatever it was they were all doing. He was still wounded, though on the mend, and couldn’t afford any damage.

He was under Megatron’s protection, and as long as he doesn’t cause trouble the Decepticons are supposed to leave him be. But some of them really, really wanted him to cause trouble. Case in point, the heavy, aggressive mech currently standing in his way.

“Motormaster.” Optimus greeted him politely. He did not continue walking forward, or make any move at all. He was in no hurry to be anywhere in particular, and so he did nothing to escalate whatever situation the aggressive truck-former was hoping was going to develop.

“What are you doing outside of Megatron’s berth, slave bot?” The Stunticon snapped, his weight heavy on his pedes and his fingers curling eagerly into fists. _Come at me,_ his stance and flared plating whispered. _Make my fragging day._

Optimus refused to rise to the bait.

“Lord Megatron is allowing me to stretch my pedes. I am following his instructions. Perhaps you should do the same.”

Motormaster snorted at him, and then after an aggressive lounge forward - which Optimus ignored - he stopped, turned on his pede and walked away angrily.

Optimus waited until the so-called ‘King of the Road’ was completely gone out of sight and then continued down the corridor. He was careful to memorize the entire layout so to be able to negotiate the base as efficiently as possible when the chance to escape came.

Rounding a corner, he was surprised to see Soundwave coming down the opposite way.

Soundwave was finally up on his pedes, though he moved as slowly as Optimus did. He knew Soundwave’s captivity with the Quintessons had been harsh. The last time he had seen Soundwave had been on the prison ship, where they had shared a cell with a few others, including Galvatron and two of his Sweeps.

It had been a cruel journey, and Optimus had been forced to intervene on Soundwave’s behalf when Galvatron and his minions had turned murderous. He only spared a mild glance in the communication officer’s direction though, and didn’t even bother to catch Soundwave’s gaze or greet him in any way, treating him like all the other Decepticons that passed by him today.

He was under no illusions as to expect any sort of gratitude or help from Megatron’s third-in-command. He hadn’t defended Soundwave expecting anything in return; he had defended him because it was the right thing to do. He knew he would find no allies here and he wasn’t looking for any. He kept walking, but was surprised when Soundwave stepped into his path. He stopped as he had done with Motormaster, and waited.

Soundwave stared at the Prime for a long moment. “You are responsible for my survival.”

“Yes.” Optimus replied, but said nothing further. He expected nothing.

“I serve Lord Megatron. No aid will be provided.”

Optimus moved around him then, saying nothing. _I am well aware,_ he thought at Soundwave. _Did I ask you for anything?_ Mildly irritated at the assumption, he continued down the corridor without another word. He could feel Soundwave watching him leave, but he felt nothing in return for the blue spy.

He knew he was utterly alone here.

…

Optimus did find an exit finally, but it was midway up the ship’s side, and opened into empty air. It looked like it might have been a cargo bay at one point.

He was disappointed. Peering downwards, he noted the fall to the ground far below might damage him in his current state. This was not going to be very helpful to him, and he moved away.

Standing far back, he watched several seekers as they flew in and transformed to land. _Starscream’s Armada uses this as a launching zone,_ he realized. Then that very same seeker flew through the entrance and transformed, landing gracefully on the ground on his heels. His command trine landed around him and split off, heading down a different hallway.

Starscream stopped and stood off to the side to comm someone, most likely reporting the results of his patrol to Megatron. After a moment of chatter he noticed Optimus watching him. He flicked his wings in playful acknowledgement and threw Optimus a lazy smile.

Optimus dipped his head in a polite reply. It was best not to irritate Starscream. He could be vindictive if vexed, and Optimus didn’t need the trouble. The Air Commander was no longer watching him, however.

Starscream finished his report and snapped his comm closed. He turned on his heel to follow after his trine, but then came to a dead stop in the hallway, clenching his fists. His wings flared in what looked like alarm, and Optimus could tell his smile was abruptly gone.

Soundwave was walking down the far hallway, and inclined his head at Thundercracker and Skywarp as they greeted him. The three Decepticons stopped to chat for a moment, and Optimus watched in surprise as Starscream abruptly turned away, and practically threw himself back out of the launch exit, transforming and darting away into the sky, clearly seeking to avoid the telepath.

Optimus watched him disappear, no doubt circling around to a different entrance. He had no idea what was going on, and decided not to worry about it. Instead, he stared out at the greenish sky for a long moment. He found himself wondering if Ratchet had met up with any Autobot survivors or if he were now deep underground.

 _Trump, trump, trump_ , there came a thudding beat, and Optimus recognized the sounds of slow, heavy pedes coming in his direction from further down the hall.

Megatron was following him.

 _Best to not give him any reason to question me,_ he thought. Slowly, he turned and headed back toward Megatron’s chambers. He was quietly relieved when the heavy pedes stopped following him after he turned down the corridor leading to the Decepticon Leader’s quarters.

…

Optimus had been resting silently in a chair for hours in Megatron’s empty quarters when boredom finally overcame his foreboding uneasiness. He looked around, saw nothing of interest, and then started carefully rummaging through his subspace. He had a sizeable one and other then basic necessities it was full to the brim with his favorite book files. Histories, natural and military, and many other learned topics.

He had just started reading when the deeper realization finally sunk in. He looked back up and around the room.

 _I am the only thing in here other than furniture,_ he realized. _I am Megatron’s only entertainment at night, with no other distractions. No wonder he is always focused on tormenting me._

Perhaps there was something he could do about that.

He briefly considered leaving out all of his bookfiles for them both to read but then discarded the idea. He didn’t know if Megatron enjoyed reading the same topics he did (though he suspected he might) and worried the small data pads would simply be erased and appropriated for other uses.

 _He enjoys pitting himself against me. Perhaps there is some way to indulge that while sparing my frame,_ he considered, and then thought of a possible solution.

_Chess._

A set strategy game might work to provide entertainment, and keep Megatron from constantly coming up with his own little games. If it worked it might spare his valve from constant use and give them something to do together that didn’t involve physically dominating him.

He went back to digging around in his subspace and found a small hot-blade that would work as a carving knife, and resolved to find some spare metal to make a chess set with the next time he went for a walk around the base.

…

Optimus was lost in his reading a joor or so later when he heard a shuffling sound outside the warbuild’s quarters and swiftly subspaced his bookfile. _Strange. That doesn’t sound like Megatron._ The pede steps were far too light. He waited, and then when the shuffling continued and then the door jostled, he called out to the mech on the other side of it.

“Lord Megatron?”

The door burst open and a Sweep stood just inside the doorway. It stared at him for a moment, surprised. Down the hall, sounds of battle reached his audials.

Galvatron had finally made his move.

“You,” the Sweep hissed, recognizing him, and then it launched itself at Optimus.

He dropped into a battle stance and buried a fist into its face plates, kicking it away from him. It fell back, snarled at him and then reported to Cyclonus who it had found over its comms, and Optimus scowled furiously. He knew it meant that Galvatron was now aware he was among the Decepticons.

He needed to find Megatron.

He wasn’t at all happy with his captivity with the Decepticon Lord, but he couldn’t deny that Megatron was far preferable then Galvatron so far.

The Sweep surged back at him and he fought with it furiously. It continuously charged at him and tried to overpower him, but he punched and kicked it back again and again, having no other weapons other than his hands and pedes. He worked around it, trying to get close enough to get in a lethal blow while avoiding the vicious talons as best he could. He ended up taking a few bad cuts, the damage unavoidable.

Then the Sweep fell back. It tilted its head as it was clearly hearing instructions in its internal comms. After a moment, it disengaged with Optimus completely and darted back out of the room.

Optimus followed after it, and it became clear that the Sweeps were re-grouping out at the front of the base. He saw several of them fly through the mid-air exit he had found earlier.

He couldn’t fly, but he didn’t know where any other exits where. So he did the next best thing, and launched himself at a regrouping Sweep just as it leapt out of the open hatch. He grappled with it as the Sweep frantically tried to fight him off and stay airborne, slowing their fall.

They both hit the dark gray ground with a heavy thud, and Optimus used the opportunity to smash the Sweep’s face plates, stunning it. Then he stomped its helm flat. The components crushed and sparked beneath his pede. He started forward, looking up to see a bedlam of furious battle all round him.

The Decepticons and the Unicronians were clashing feverishly, with most of the fighting concentrated at what appeared to be the main entrance of the base.

 _This would be the perfect time to slip away,_ he realized and hope arose within him.

“---Prime!”

Optimus recoiled as he heard Megatron’s voice roar out at him. He whirled towards the call and could make out silver plating gleaming in the thick of the fighting, right within the entrance; Megatron was besieged from all sides. He was holding his own, and it was clear from the furious grin on his face that he was fully enjoying himself.

“They are inside!” Optimus called back to Megatron, to justify why _he_ was outside. He saw Megatron grappling with a Sweep and he hurried towards the carnage, preparing to fight alongside the Decepticons.

There was no point in trying to flee now. With Megatron within shouting range, he would simply be ordered back to their quarters if he tried, and he would have to obey. Instead, he waded into battle along with the other Decepticons, and began fighting his way towards the Decepticon Leader.

“Come to me!” Megatron roared out, too focused on his own fight to see that Optimus was already on his way. He tore through another Sweep and then smashed into the next. There were so many of them.

Optimus finally made it to Megatron, and they ended up back to back, both fighting furiously through wave after wave of Galvatron’s drones. The attack seemed endless, but of Galvatron, there was no sign.

***

Galvatron stood in a combat stance.

His lower lip curled into a grimace as he tried and failed to get a servo on the sleek red and white seeker currently staying one wing ahead of him. He was frustrated that Starscream refused to grapple with him, and instead delivered swift, darting attacks with fists and his wing blade, while leaping back to avoid retaliating strikes.

It was a dangerous dance, and Starscream knew better than to let Galvatron get a grip on him. That had been his previous mistake, the last time they had fought like this. The barbarian bastard was simply too powerful in hand to hand combat, and so Starscream relied on swift strikes and his wing blade to stay ahead of him.

Starscream was far more agile then Galvatron, and knew it, and the fight was frustrating the hell out of Galvatron. Once again, Galvatron lunged forward, lashing out and then bracing for the return strike, which didn't come head on as expected; Starscream side-stepped and managed a decent blow, a sneaky move that had bright internal fluid dripping down his side.

“Stop flailing and _fight me,”_ Galvatron snarled.

“No.”

Starscream smirked back at him. “You move like a drunken service drone. I just can’t move that slowly. Too bad you don’t look half as nice as one.” He stabbed out with his blade, and then ducked a returning punch.

“Galvatron is no drone, you pathetic fool,” Galvatron snapped, furious that he couldn't land so much as a single decent strike. “Kneel before your Emperor!”

 _Yes, keep up the grandiose proclamations, idiot._ Starscream finished his feint, and then stopped mid-fight as if he was seriously considering following Galvatron’s orders. He tilted his head and mockingly placing fingers to his mouth in pretend consideration.

Confused for a moment, Galvatron let him, and then remembered they were supposed to be _fighting_ , and surged forward. Starscream leapt to the side, whirled, and scored a direct hit to Galvatron’s lateral plating.

But Galvatron shrugged off the blow as if he hadn’t even felt it, and lunged at him again. Galvatron was well aware all he had to do was get a servo on his adversary. They had already danced before, and he knew the strength of Starscream’s plating in a direct fight; much thinner than any of the other more heavily-plated of Megatron's soldiers.

Starscream knew it too.

He had already commed Megatron and reported Galvatron's position. Megatron had told him he was on his way and Starscream completely ignored his next command: to withdraw and leave the bastard for him to deal with.

They were currently fighting right at the entrance to the distillery, and cubes upon cubes of yellow energon were stacked against the walls. If Galvatron was left to his own devices and consumed enough of them he would be able to overpower even Megatron.

Starscream knew that to ensure a Decepticon victory he would have to hold Galvatron off until Megatron arrived.

Unfortunately, victory would be costly today.

Starscream landed another good blow, but was brutally punched in the abdominals in return. He threw himself back, firing his thrusters and darting away, but the damage was done. He looked down in dismay for the briefest instant; the fluttering inside his chest plates had ceased instantly on impact. Furious, twisting pain was now grinding through his mid-internals.

 _I suppose that is one way to solve the problem,_ Starscream thought as emotion surged through him. Then he remembered himself _–-- Decepticons do not get attached ---_ and he grinned at Galvatron, who was surging towards him for another attack.

“Thanks.”

Galvatron stopped and gave him a confused look. A long moment passed, and then he made sense of the strange show of gratitude in his own way. “Of course,” he said generously, “It is an honor to be conquered by Galvatron. Here, have another.”

Starscream gave him a vicious grin as he ducked the blow. “I hate it when mechs talk in the third person. You are not impressing anyone, Unicronian, believe me.”

“Who dares invade the domain of **Megatron?** ” That all-too-familiar voice thundered through the room, confident and harsh.

Starscream face-palmed.

Galvatron snorted at him in mirth and stepped away, presenting his back to Starscream in a dismissal that was intentionally offensive. Galvatron, ever confident in himself, set his pedes and prepared to face what he considered to be the greater threat: Megatron was striding toward him with his thick plating flared, optics bright and eager for a real fight.

But turning his back on Starscream was a horrible, horrible mistake, and Megatron knew it.

The edge of Megatron’s lip plating curved upward into a small smile as he watched his Air Commander ... watched as Starscream tilted his head to the side slightly as he regarded those oh-so-carelessly turned back plates.

Decepticons were not ones to miss such an opportunity. The hot edge of Starscream's wing blade plunged deep, slicing something critical, and Galvatron roared in pain and rage. He whirled to punch Starscream away, but Starscream was already out of range, and Megatron snatched at the opportunity to light up the deep stab wound with a burning shot from his fusion cannon.

Starscream smiled down at his wing blade viciously, admiring the glint, as it was coated in Galvatron’s internal fluid. He felt a momentary burst of satisfaction. Then he clutched at his abdominal plating in intense pain and slipped away, his eyes darting furtively as he headed deeper into the base and safety.

Megatron parted through the battle, his Decepticons fighting all around him, but he had optics only for Galvatron.

This would be their first real meeting.

Galvatron powered up his particle accelerator cannon (probably only good for one or two shots) and brandished it at Megatron, ignoring the small stream of internal fluid and melted internals now running down his back plating.

“I am the Ravager of Worlds! I am the Emperor of Destruction! I am---“

“---a relic from a defunct age, a mere pawn of darker forces,” Megatron interrupted, voice booming as he strode forward. “You move from master to master, Nova Prime, the Darkness, and then Unicron,” he sneered, “but you are never the master of your own destiny.”

Galvatron’s optics bulged at the insolence. He opened his intakes to snarl vitrol back at Megatron, but then he caught sight of Prime following behind Megatron, and his optics went wide.

“You!” Galvatron hissed, both delighted and enraged. “I have been looking for you! Your insolence will be punished. Come to me, slave!” He gestured at his side, but Prime did not move. He was no longer compelled to obey Galvatron. He stared back at his previous owner, his blue optics flaring in hot anger.

“I am no longer your slave,” Prime snapped. “You are completely insane.”

Galvatron snarled at him in fury, and Megatron turned and shoved Prime back, baring sharp denta in anger. “You belong to _me_. You will be silent and not interfere. This is my fight.”

“You!" Galvatron roared, utterly consumed by rage. "You have stolen him from me! He is mine!” and he pointed his cannon at his adversary’s chest plates and fired.

Megatron darted left and then charged with an answering roar, and they grappled. Both slammed their weight into each other, the crash of their heavy frames ringing over the lesser sounds of battle.

Other than the initial challenging roar, Megatron remained uncharacteristically quiet, too busy gauging his enemy to bother with incidentals. He was supremely confident in his authority over his Decepticons and didn’t feel the need to posture. That would come later, once he better understood the opponent he was fighting.

For his part, Galvatron continued to snarl threats and insults, proclaiming his superiority as he enjoyed the sound of his own vocals far too much to remain silent. He spewed a constant stream of venomous insults and death threats while testing the metal of his enemy's plating.

Just behind him and staying near the wall, Optimus obeyed his leader and remained silent. He shook his head in annoyance as the coding whispered lurid observations to him regarding the silver mech embattled with Galvatron.

The two combatants traded furious blows, and Megatron head-butted Galvatron, who fell back with a hiss, and then Galvatron prepared to throw himself back at his adversary.

Megatron prepared himself for the charge, internal fluid flowing down his lip plating and chin, but still very eager. But before he could re-engage, Galvatron slipped his footing a bit. The scrape of metal startled him, and he looked down to see the very large puddle of his own internal fluids gathering at his pedes, from the small river now flowing down his back.

Starscream had scored a really deep hit, and Galvatron's internal pressure and fuel gauges were starting to ping warnings at him. “That wretched seeker,” he hissed, “has cost me this battle today. I will repay him for this dishonor.”

“Starscream _is_ a vicious, back-stabbing glitch,” Megatron agreed, sporting his own malicious grin. “One of the many reasons I keep him around.”

Galvatron lifted his helm and contemplated that, noting the barely noticeable and yet very real underlying affection in Megatron's tone ... something that might prove useful later. Then Galvatron snapped an order over his internal comms to his Sweeps and lunged at Megatron as if to grapple with him again.

Megatron adjusted his posture and began to surge forward, but at the last second Galvatron slid down to his knees and pointed his particle accelerator cannon upwards at Megatron’s chest plates. But as his finger depressed on the trigger, Prime lunged out and hauled Megatron back out of the line of fire, and the shot went wide.

Galvatron lashed out, grabbed one of his fallen Sweeps and transformed into a powerful Cybertronian flight form while the remainder of his forces surged in around him, and forced his way back out of the base.

Megatron watched him escape with a scowl and then commed his forces to rally to him. He ordered a full head count and then turned his attention to Prime. “I gave you a direct order,” Megatron hissed at him, furious.

“He would have shot you point blank in the chest," Prime said defensively. "You could have been offlined.” The coding had agreed he was foremost to protect his master, and it had allowed him to defend Megatron in spite of the order given. Apparently though, Megatron was not happy with his actions.

“I told you this was my fight!” Megatron took an aggressive step forward, fists clenched.

Prime was frustrated and clearly about to argue, but then dropped his helm in submission. There was no point. “I apologize, Leader. I meant no disrespect.”

Megatron’s fury abated only a little at the clear submission to his authority. Obedience always helped calm him. “Do not defy me again. Return to our quarters, immediately.”

Prime dropped his helm submissively and left to obey as he must.

***

Optimus was on his way back to Megatron’s quarters when a muffled cry of pain met his audials. He had always possessed sensitive hearing and the debilitated metal walls did little to stifle sound from escaping. He hesitated as he looked down a corridor adjacent to Megatron’s chambers, where the noise seemed to have originated from.

Moments later another faint cry of pain whispered to him from down the hall. There seemed to be another entrance, likely to someone’s quarters. He remembered Hook, and decided to take a detour.

The slave coding awakened in him then.

Optimus was forced to grind to a halt in the hall. He had to waste a moment to mentally assure the wretched thing that he intended to obey Megatron, and that if Hook was hurting one of Megatron’s soldiers then his master would want him to interfere. _Master will be happy with me, for I am a good slave,_ he thought at it, mentally cringing at the same time.

But the coding did finally relax its grip, and he started back down the hall towards the source of the quiet cry. He hesitated again while standing at the door, not wanting any trouble, but his compassionate spark wouldn't let him leave. The soft sound came again and he reminded himself that there really was nothing for him to lose. If he could help someone else then it was all for the better.

He entered the room cautiously. It was as empty-looking as Megatron’s, but much smaller. There was a tiny side room, a small shower, and he could see that Starscream was inside. He was hunched over and rocking back and forth in obvious pain ... then looked up in alarm as Optimus entered the tiny room. He scowled furiously.

“Get out.”

Optimus ignored him, as he was not required to obey the Air Commander.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Do you need help to the Medbay?”

 **“No.** Now get out.”

Optimus stared down at the hunched form for a long moment, his memory files pinging warning at him. Something about the way the jet is moving and straining was darkly familiar to him. It comes to him when the jet gasps, curls over straining, relaxes, gasps again, and curls over and strains, in a steady repeating rhythm. His optics soften in sadness as he realized what he was seeing.

“I can help you. I have helped with this… sort of thing before, regrettably.”

“What can you do? You aren’t a medic, and _no_ I won’t see Hook for this.”

“I understand.”

Optimus knelt down next to Starscream, and after a moment, gently reached down and then up inside. Starscream gasped and his optics went wide for the gently intruding servos, but he offered no struggle. Slowly and carefully Optimus worked around Starscream's spasming internals. He located and helped pull the … obstruction … down and free.

Starscream watched the proceedings with a strangely detached air ... as if he was disconnected from what was happening to him. Then he demanded the motionless, lifeless object. He clutched it and wrapped it in a rag and sub spaced the tiny bundle all in the same instant. His wings flicked, his hands clenched into fists, and he looked up at Prime with a sharp and calculating expression.

“I am truly sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. In fact I am relieved.”

(Optimus was not well versed in the body/wing language of seekers though, and didn’t notice a very telling, very distressed shiver along the bottom length of long white wings).

Seeing Optimus’ stunned expression, Starscream explained further. “My bolt was damaged during a battle with the Quintessons. There is no way to replace it.”

Optimus stared at him in shock for a moment at the utterly callous words. Then realization dawned. He was reminded yet again that he was now immersed in a completely different culture. He mentally pieced the rest of the pieces together from as much of a Decepticon mindset as he could manage, and the situation became clear.

“No one knows about this, do they? The rest of them are infertile due to the war, as the Autobot are. This … would be a complete disaster for you, wouldn’t it?”

“It would **destroy** me. The fuel here is too weak. I could only do this if I was practically berth-ridden. Even a long flight would trigger… I would be forbidden to fly or fight, or do anything that makes life worth living. I would lose the highlight of my evenings (he didn’t elaborate but Optimus was sure he was referring to rough play with Megatron) and would be seen as weak to my subordinates. I would effectively lose both my status and my command.”

Starscream stared at Optimus then, the look in his optics wild and dangerous. “They would make me do this endlessly to increase our numbers and I would lose _everything_.”

Optimus could tell that he was honestly terrified. And a frightened Starscream is a _vicious_ Starscream.

Optimus felt a pang of helpless pity for the situation, but also a deep sense of frustration. _Only a Decepticon would see new life as a weakness._ None of his Autobots would ever think to hide such a thing. It would be a source of happiness, a wellspring of communal joy. But he was not amidst his own kind here.

"You know that without a bolt, this will keep happening?" and Optimus looked down at Starscream, his optics glowing soft with sympathy.

Starscream glowered at him, not appreciating his gentle concern in the slightest. "That is _my_ problem, not yours."

“I will keep your secret,” Optimus said finally. “But I need your help in return.”

He flinched inside for the words as he knew it was wrong to take advantage of this situation, but he was in a bad place now. This was an opportunity he needed to take, if only for Ratchet's sake. It helped that the Seeker only seemed worried for his own position and rank within the Decepticons, and showed no sign (that Optimus could recognize) of distress for his loss.

“You are blackmailing me.” Starscream relaxed as _this_ was a response he could respect. “I can work with that. I’m listening.”

Optimus dropped his gaze for a moment with a twinge of shame, but then lifted his helm in determination. “I need you to get me something I can use to survive the nights out in the wilds. I intend to escape and find the others, if they still live.”

“You can do that?” Starscream asked, skeptically.

“I intend to try, and there is one more thing I want.”

Starscream snorted at that. “Oh, let me grab a data pad so I can take down your list.”

“This one should be easy for you," Optimus said quietly. "If I don’t succeed…I need you to end me.”

Starscream narrowed his optics in disbelief. “ _End you?_ You think things are that bad here?”

“I can’t live like this.” His tone was firm.

Starscream huffed, honestly offended. “You are our greatest enemy, remember? But still he hasn’t hurt you, and I know that for a fact. He has been ridiculously polite and generous about absolutely everything.”

“That has not been my experience.”

“Right, right. Stupid oversensitive Autobot sentimentality.”

“I can’t live like this.” His tone remained firm.

Starscream groaned. “You have no idea. _No idea._ You are asking a lot of me. Megatron is… enamored... with this entire situation. If he found out I was responsible for your deactivation, he would-“

“I trust in your ability to be… discreet.”

Starscream pondered that, and then gave Prime a vicious smile.

“Deal.”

 


	13. Decepticons Really Are Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron enjoys himself greatly, and Optimus remembers why you don’t make deals with Decepticons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short smut chapter, no real plot. Megatron having a little morning fun with his captive. He's just playing, and certainly doesn't hate his captive, but to Optimus it's all malicious humiliation. 
> 
> Warning: Non-con sticky oral, Non-con sticky. Mildly kinky. Inappropriate uses of medical cream.
> 
> Thanks again for the comments!

At a few points in his long life, Optimus Prime may have entertained a few… improper thoughts in regards to the regal silver mech currently invading his personal space. But this was never a scenario he would have envisioned. There was no way he could have ever imagined doing what he was doing now.

“This is inappropriate,” Optimus sputtered. His audials must be malfunctioning.

“Take your time, Prime. We have all morning, if you need it. I am in no hurry.”

Megatron’s expression was considerate and dignified, but Optimus could tell from his grip on his captor that his electromagnetic field was positively vibrating with enjoyment. 

Enjoying Optimus’ hesitant, double handed grip on said arch nemesis’ spike, to be precise.

“Your reasoning is completely without merit,” Optimus said, feeling the heat from the relatively delicate spike plating beneath his fingers. 

“I am well aware, Prime. I am just along for the ride, in this case, quite literally.” 

The smug tone was in full force this morning.

They were sitting on the berth, facing each other while Optimus tried to figure out some way out of this scenario.

He had been trying hard all morning to not talk with Megatron, to avoid giving his owner any ideas or incite him what-so-ever. But Megatron refused to allow him his distance, and had been forcing interaction on him. 

It started with the morning feeding, which had been more invasive then previous experiences. He had licked the cube and Megatron’s fingers clean and endured a long, probing kiss without any struggle, playing his part as an obedient slave. He kept hoping Megatron would just leave for the day, so he could go for a walk and attempt to steal some supplies for survival out in the wilds. 

Perhaps some stray metal for the chess set in the meantime. But Megatron was determined to play with him this morning. 

“What gives you the right?” He was stalling. He already knew the answer; he had asked Megatron this many times during their long mutual history when he had committed some particularly atrocious act.

“I am a Decepticon. I want it, I take it. That gives me the right. Also, you need it. I thought having some control would make you feel more at ease. Now, no more excuses. Get on with it before you overheat yourself.”

And he _was_ starting to overheat.

Optimus frowned down at the excellently shaped, very substantial silver spike, with its red biolights and drops of pre-fluid at the tip. _He really is serious. He really is going to make me do this._

He swallowed, heavily. _Try to lessen the contact._

Megatron just wanted to dominate him sexually and doubtlessly didn’t actually care about his comfort. _Give him what he wants as he will just take it anyway, but spare yourself as much as possible._

“Can I take it in my intakes?” 

He didn’t want anything in his valve _or_ his intakes, but his intakes were considerably better off. He did feel better, but his valve was still sore and he also didn’t want the closeness a full interface would entail. Clearly something inappropriate was happening to him this morning, and this spike was…well it was impressive. There was no other word for it.

Megatron considered his request carefully, optics tracking over the open paneling before him. The port he wanted was perfectly shaped although still very bruised, the lovely blue biolights shimmering enticingly.

“Well… if you insist Prime. I was intending only a quick interaction this morning, but... I will allow it.”

 _It’s better than having him on top of me,_ he tried to console himself, and adjusted his grip on the other’s spike. _Best get on with it before he changes his mind._ The tip of the spike was streaming pre-fluid, and the warbuild’s fields were now burning with lust. 

He swallowed, then bent down and took the tip into his mouth. It was hot in his intakes, the slick fluid coating his glossa. 

He closed his optics to better distance himself from this and ran his glossa around the head of it, lathering the spike in oral fluid and then worked over the slit in the tip as more pre-fluid trickled out over his glossa. It twitched at his touch and he tightened his grip on the hot spike and focused on the sensors clustered beneath the spikehead, stimulating them.

He heard Megatron’s cooling fans up-tick several notches.

He sucked the spikehead fully into his mouth, heard Megatron hiss in delight, and began manipulating the plating around with his glossa. 

He took the spike in deeper and deeper while sucking firmly. His helm bobbed as he worked, swallowing around the hot metal while his fingers pumped at the base and up, trying to overload the warbuild as quickly as possible.

Thankfully the Slagmaker kept his servos to himself, not grabbing at Optimus’ helm or forcing his spike in any deeper then what Optimus was allowing.

He did hear the other flex his hands and heard him rake his fingers down the berth, clearly greatly enjoying himself, his intakes pulling in sharp gasps of air.

He stiffened when the spike twitched and began to empty into his intakes, while Megatron watched him with gleaming red optics. He considered spitting the hot transfluid pulsing over his glossa out.

He really wasn’t a prude, however, and he didn’t want to end up cleaning up the resulting mess in some creative way if it pleased the Slagmaker to order it of him. So he didn’t. He simply swallowed as it emptied, sucking and swallowing, leaving the spike in his intakes until it was finished. 

Then he released it and backed away. 

_At least it is over. Hopefully he will leave now._

Megatron regarded him, deeply pleased. His fields were pulsing with pleasure and satisfaction. Optimus looked away, embarrassed. There was no point in being ashamed he told himself; he had been forced to do this. The thought helped, but only a little.

“That was most agreeable, Prime. You have a lovely glossa.” Megatron said with complete sincerity. “Now, shall we continue on with our previous activity?”

Optimus looked back at him, startled. “What…?”

The silver spike remained extended, tip still gleaming with his oral fluid. Megatron cocked a brow ridge at him. “Is there a problem?”

Optimus just frowned at him pointedly.

Megatron tilted his face plates to the side in pretend confusion. “You asked for my spike, I let you have it. I don’t understand the problem. You still require your medication.”

Optimus choked back the harsh complaint that was forming on the tip of his glossa. Obviously it would do no good. _I do not believe it. I walked right into this._ Of course Megatron couldn’t be trusted to keep an agreement and he _knew_ that.

“Ah. I see. You meant it as an alternative.” Megatron pretended to reconsider the situation for a moment. “Well then, no. Absolutely not. You need your medication. Now, get on with it.”

Optimus stared at him in quiet frustrated anger. “I think I hate you.” The coding tinged in his mind and reminded him he had been given an order. He reminded himself he was trying not to encourage Megatron. He was failing hard, he could tell by the amused pulsing of Megatron’s fields.

“I hate you too, Prime.” The Slagmaker said cheerfully, entirely without heat. “…Cream?”

 _Vector Sigma,_ he groaned to himself, but he had no choice. He took the cream from Megatron, set it down to the side, uncapped it, and… stared at it for a while, delaying, until he couldn’t anymore. He began smearing the unguent atop the head and down the sides of the hot spike. 

Now if only Megatron would _shut up_. 

“Yes, yes, like that. Good.” 

He smeared the cream slowly, postponing as long as possible. Megatron didn’t seem to mind.

“Mm. I’ve been thinking. Tell me, Prime, during our long struggle, did you dream of me?”

Optimus winced. He deeply disliked the control Megatron had over him, and the thoughtful way he used it against him. The spike in his servos twitched and pressurized just a little tighter as he squeezed and worked over it.

“…Yes.”

“Day dreams?”

Optimus cringed. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading. He kept moving his fingers in circles around the spikehead. Droplets of pre-fluid were starting to bead out of the slit. The warbuild was obviously perfectly happy with the delay so long as his captive’s fingers kept moving over his hot plating. His internal fans were working hard to cool his silver frame and his black servos curled and uncurled in pleasure.

He had to answer. “…Yes.”

“Heh. I admit to the same.” Megatron considered him carefully, and then seemed to come to a decision. “I am going to find you a data pad. I want a list of every dream and daydream. I have already composed my own list. I am feeling generous, so we will start with yours first, so be thorough, because after that we start on _mine."_

He stared at Megatron like a trapped turbofox, and didn’t speak for a moment. 

He was so distracted and alarmed with the conversation that his fingers were moving only instinctively across the spike in his hands, firmly pumping and squeezing it like he would one of his beloved Autobots while he involuntarily went down a mental list of every little scenario he had ever envisioned, every little half-dream. He was caught between wanting to make as long a list as possible to avoid Megatron’s plans and just curling up in a ball in complete horror.

“Do you really hate me? Answer that honestly, Prime.” 

Megatron was deeply enjoying the reluctant servos working his spike, and it was streaming pre-fluid again.

He swallowed, not wanting to admit the truth. He honestly didn’t hate anyone. He was far too empathetic for something as uselessly crude as hate. But he had to answer.

“…No. I don’t hate you. I am just… extremely disappointed in you.”

“I entirely understand. I actually do hate you, and you have been a massive disappointment for me as well.” This was spoken in an utmost jovial tone, because the truth was that Megatron clearly loved every moment of Prime’s captivity, as his fields could attest. There was no hate whatsoever to be found as his strong EM field brushed over his captive’s weaker one, tucked tightly against his body and far less thrilled. 

“Then allow me to leave.”

“No. Absolutely not. Never. Unlike you, I have faith that our little situation will get better.” 

Megatron’s tone booked no argument, just like he knew it wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to be freed from his captivity; he would have to escape it. Megatron didn’t need him to submit, he had full power over his frame now and could force him to do anything he wanted. Optimus dismissed the Decepticon's seeming desire for mutual intimacy as fake, and what he felt was false friendliness was a continual source of confusion for him. 

Then he couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore. He had been given an order. 

_How is this even supposed to work?_

He considered leaning back and then guiding the other’s spike into his valve to apply the cream as the Slagmaker leaned above him, using the spike as an applicator as ordered. But he didn’t want the heavy body on top of him. 

The other option was to push Megatron on his back plating and lower himself onto the lathered spike.

Megatron just watched him, perfectly content to let him puzzle over how he was going to follow his Leader’s command for as long as he needed to, as promised. Did he not say he was going to be generous? His spike remained erect and willing, pulsing under Optimus’ pleasing fingers.

“I… need you on your back.”

“Say please.” Megatron's field pulsed in sheerest amusement around him.

Optimus closed his optics in quiet irritation. _Son of a…_ “Please.”

“Of course.” And Megatron readjusted himself so that he was on his back, sprawled out comfortably, spike erect and waiting. 

His captive took his place over the prone warlord. _Best to just get this over with,_ Optimus thought bleakly, and started lowering himself carefully towards the warm and patiently waiting metal beneath him, guiding it towards his valve with one hand while the other braced against the berth. It was so much worse when he had to actively participate instead of lay there and take it.

“Wait.”

 _What now,_ he flinched, frustrated. “I don’t-“

“You aren’t ready.” Megatron gestured mildly at the very dry valve hovering over his spike. 

“I don’t…you know I don’t want this. I would rather just apply it in the shower, alone. This entire situation is inappropriate.”

“I entirely understand. Fortunately for the both of us,” he gestured with his head towards the fluid streaming from the tip, “-I do. Now hurry up. I grow impatient.” Optimus blinked for a long moment, grit his denta, then then reached out and gathered up some of the pre-fluid with his thumb and forefinger. He began applying it to his valve, his metal growing slick enough for comfort.

Powerful black servos reach up and grip his thighs just below his aft and support him as he carefully smeared Megatron's slick fluid into himself. The tips of the servos dug into the wiring there and started tweaking it, sending prickles of sensation down his legs and into his array.

Then he carefully slid down, and started moving on the spike, hesitantly, using the thick metal as an applicator as ordered, smearing the cream into his valve. He pulled himself off and reapplied the cream when ordered, and then lowered himself again, and this went on for a bit, as his captor watched with lidded optics, offering a few helpful tips here and there in smug tones all throughout the proceedings.

Then Megatron had enough and flipped them over, and took control back. He re-entered and began to thrust firmly, working over the internals slowly.

“Hold on to me.” His deep voice rumbled into his audial.

Optimus obeyed, reaching up and grabbing the plating of the frame above him, and hooked his legs around the other’s hip struts, keeping the hot plating of the heavy warbuild close as ordered. The heavy mech's engine rumbled, enjoying the touch, pleased with the hesitant grip on his body.

Megatron is harder this time. Still mindful, but his thrusts are getting harsher.

Prime still couldn’t help but find pleasure in the slick glide of hot metal over his mesh, moving in and out inexplicably. The spike was thick and filled him completely, working over his every node and sensor.

The warbuild moved within him inexplicably, steady and sure, building the pleasure charge until he was gasping and fighting to keep the moans inside. He did finally find release, and the very mild fever in his protoform and helm eased completely as Megatron followed him over and spilled into him with a long, low, satisfied rumble of his engine.


	14. Seeker Kisses and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream and Optimus Prime further remonstrate about pit-spawned glitches…and Optimus discovers that escape may be harder than he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I admit it. The first part of this chapter was specifically written as I just want an excuse to get a bunch of seekers to valve kiss Prime into overload.
> 
> Warning: Non-con oral. Non-con sticky sex. Non-con revenge oral, gross out warning

Starscream watched as Prime surreptitiously picked up several pieces of scrap metal and quickly subspaced them.

Or at least Prime probably thought he was being guileful, but in reality he was surrounded by the most deviously skilled of the surviving Decepticons and he wasn’t likely to get away with much of anything. Certainly not here.

“Up to something, are we?” Starscream asked from behind Prime. He was leaning against the bulkhead wall, arms crossed in front of him, wings lifted in a lively manner. He could tell by the way Prime startled that he'd been caught unawares.

“Yes,” Prime admitted, “But not what you might think.” The scrap metal pieces were a good shape already; he could easily turn them into a few pawns for the chess set.

“Of _course_ , all perfectly innocent I am sure." Then Starscream gave him a shrewd look. "Glorious Leader knows, by the way. He saw you subspace something you were working on yesterday, and he is all giddy about it.”

Starscream flicked a wing at Optimus, who looked back at him with mild concern. “Just a friendly warning from someone who knows,” he said with a grin. “I really wouldn’t suggest giving Megatron a reason to inflict a good, hard punishment frag on you. I don’t think your sad little valve would survive.”

“I understand. Thank you for the warning.” Prime took a step away, intending to continue on his walk.

 _He is an enslaved frag toy and yet somehow remains so dignified. How does he manage that?_ and Starscream stood there pondering as the Prime started to slowly walk away.

Then the floor creaked ominously.

Something shifted beneath their pedes that shouldn’t have and then the metal floor gave out beneath them. They fell together, hit the debilitated floor on the lower level, and broke through that as well. They landed flat on their backs on gritty ground at the lowest level of the ship as the guttered remains of the two floors came down atop them, burying them in heavy debris.

Starscream coughed to clear his intakes of dusty grit. He activated his comms to call his armada for aid when he found he couldn’t move. Sprawled out next to him, Prime was also coughing up silt, struggling to clear his ventilation systems. He was only a few feet away, and every bit as pinned down as Starscream.

“Are you alright?” Prime asked, after a solid round of coughing.

“Fine,” Starscream muttered. “This wreck of a ship is ready to fall apart. I called for my trine. They are on their way to dig us out.”

Prime tried again to shift the debris off of himself, then gave up with a grunt. “That heavy beam laying over us will be the worst of it. Hopefully it won’t be too difficult to move.”

The rusted beam was very heavy, and it covered the bulk of their bodies. It pinned Prime to the ground by his upper chest plates. The rest of the rubble was heavy as well, but fortunately it was mostly much smaller chunks and pieces, propped up by the beam so he and Starscream were not completely crushed by rubble. Finally both Cybertronians settled down in the dark as best they could to wait for rescue.

Starscream lay quietly for a moment, and then tilted his head towards Prime. This was a perfect time to ask a question that was bothering him. “So… Megatron.”

Prime glanced over at him cautiously. “Yes?”

Starscream chewed on his lip plating, looking pensive. “Does he ever… kiss you?” Starscream watched as Prime blinked and then his optics grew distant. It wasn't a happy expression.

“I mean, really kiss you,” Starscream clarified. “Not with biting or during a fragging.”

After a long hesitation, Prime finally answered. “Yes, sometimes.” He frowned as he knew Megatron and Starscream had some sort of relationship. “You know I have no choice in the matter.”

Starscream grunted noncommittally and continued to stare pensively into space, lost in thought. _He never kisses me..._ and yet he wondered if he even wanted Megatron to. Their interactions could be so very complex; largely to do with the fact that he was continually trying to find ways to dethrone his leader. The constant challenge he provided Megatron was one of the many reasons he'd kept Megatron’s attention so raptly.

 _No,_ Starscream realized. _I don’t want him to kiss me._ Decepticons don’t get attached. But they do move up through the ranks, and Starscream knew he was long overdue for leadership. Megatron would never yield to him, and so he would have to be destroyed. That truth undercut every interaction they had.

Starscream pondered that, and quickly found himself plotting, and then had to remind himself that he actually couldn’t dispose of his troublesome leadership yet: Galvatron remained alive. His plotting fell through, and he sighed.

Prime remained quiet as they both waited for rescue. They didn’t have long to wait. Soon they could hear movement all around and above them though the layers of rubble over their heads. The rubble shifted and creaked as mounds of debris were sifted and moved by the mechs coming to their rescue.

Then Prime relaxed a little as his lower frame and legs were uncovered. He stretched his freed legs out a little and felt a hand clap on his leg in reassurance. He settled back quietly as he felt mechs moving around him. “They have found us,” he told Starscream.

“Good.” Starscream in-vented and coughed. All around them dust and grit floated through the tiny bit of trapped air over their helms. He listened for a moment, recognizing the sounds of mechs moving around. He could hear more digging. “It’s my full Armada out there,” he said, recognizing them by their light pede steps. “At least we have that going for us. My warriors are competent. We will be freed soon.”

Then Prime grunted. They were moving his legs. Why were they moving his legs? He was still pinned to the ground by his chest plates, still immobile.

Starscream looked over at him, and then flashed him a knowing grin. Prime didn’t like _that_ look in the slightest. “Why are they trying to open my interface panels?”

“They liked the look of your interface array. What? Some of them got a good look at it several days ago. You know, when Hook drugged you?"

Prime stiffened and frowned at that.

 _Oh, you have no idea,_ and Starscream smirked to himself. Autobots were so touchy. At least he was going to be amused while stuck in this hole.

“There are so many of them out there,” Prime pointed out mildly. “Why are we not yet free?”

“That is a good question,” and Starscream started snarling into his internal comms. Then he face-palmed, the smack echoing around the confined space. “Our great leader ordered them to wait until he arrives. He is out on ground patrol with Onslaught and Brawl. He told them he is … worried about further _structural collapse.”_

Prime blinked at him. “Do you believe that?”

Starscream scowled. “Frag no! He wants to get back before I can get free so he can mock me.” _He wants to mock me,_ _but I have been avoiding that fragger as much as possible lately._ He knew Megatron must have noticed and probably thought he was up to something. Thankfully he no longer had to avoid Soundwave, as there was no second little spark to be detected by the telepath, but that would change if he couldn’t keep ahead of his pit-spawned leader.

Starscream was quick to take a different route if he heard Megatron walking down the corridors and had ceased all flirting with him. His wings remained cool and rigid while in Megatron's presence, and he hissed only insults if poked at. Every night he only returned to his quarters after he was sure Megatron was settled for the night and distracted with Prime.

Prime frowned in disapproval. “That is pointless and… completely ridiculous.”

“Welcome to the Glorious Decepticon Empire, so pleased to have you.” Starscream tried to flick his wings in amusement, but they were firmly pinned. “And before you ask, no. It was not always like this. Everyone is bored and there is nothing to do, hence all the ridiculousness.”

Prime hissed suddenly, and then started to squirm. “This is inappropriate.” His frown deepened when Starscream burst out snickering.

“Megatron said that was your new favorite word.”

Okay, now _that_ was a scowl. Starscream just laughed harder. “Oh mech up, it could be worse. It could be ground-pounders pawing at you.” Realizing what he'd just said, he had just enough grace to look embarrassed. He waved his servos in a placating gesture. “Heh, no offense meant.”

Starscream had forgotten for a moment that Prime _was_ a ground pounder. Maybe that was a compliment. Starscream settled back to watch as Prime looked stoically annoyed for the servos running all over his hapless lower frame.

 

***

Optimus jerked as clever hands moved around his lower body. He had no idea who was responsible. There were a lot of them and they were pulling at his seams, trying to get him open. “They aren’t seriously going to-“

“They are petting at you, aren’t they?” Starscream looked amused. “Then yes. Yes they are seriously going to have a little fun.”

Optimus grumbled. _Really now…_ and while he couldn’t move his upper body, he still had full movement of his legs. Irritated, he clenched them tightly together and curled his legs tightly against his thighs. _Leave me alone,_ he thought at them. _I am so tired of this..._ but the servos returned and began pulling at him again.

So many hands…

“Feel free to kick them off. They fully expect it. I would be breaking denta at this point,” Starscream gazed off into space, as if re-living pleasant memories. “Fortunately they cannot reach me, yet.”

“This is normal, then,” Optimus said, sounding disappointed with the state of affairs and then he did try to shake them off. He kicked out at one of them, and managed to knock a light frame away.

“Of course,” Starscream said, matter-of-factly. “We _are_ the fools that got caught in a collapsing floor. You can’t fly, but I have no excuse, really."

"Also,” he added, “you shouldn’t be so surprised about all the interest. We don’t have many mechs here willing to allow their fellow mechs to use their valves.”

Starscream being one of them, as he shamelessly used his as a rare reward for his armada, and Swindle being the other…the con-mech used his as a bargaining chip to make his life as comfortable as possible. Everyone else had far too many insecurity issues to accept the perceived submissive position, even with the many benefits it provided.

It was a continual source of contention, and explained why Divebomb had such a rough experience on the throne room floor. Mechs were still trying hard to get back into his good graces, having had a taste of him. His fists had a continual coating of internal fluid from repelling all of the courting and friendly offers.

“Most ‘cons here prefer using their spikes,” Starscream explained. “It _is_ very nice. Your valve, I mean.”

Optimus winced at that. “It has seen more use in the last few weeks then in the last ten thousand years.” Then he kicked at another light frame, which bounced away, but came right back. Someone grabbed his leg and attempted to hold on to it. They were being very gentle, for all of the grabbing and holding and struggling.

“You still have the shiny new valve smell,” Starscream said, sounding far too lighthearted for the subject being discussed. “Megs will calm down eventually. And believe me I know the feeling. I can’t hardly keep away from his stupid aft either on this damned planet. He is keeping a close optic on me ever since I tried to leave on my own.”

“You tried to leave.” Optimus remembered seeing a furious row between the two Decepticons that first night, come to think of it. He managed to shake another seeker off. “Was it because of---"

“Yes,” Starscream hissed. “Now shut up about it. We have an agreement.”

Optimus sighed and shrank into himself, deeply ashamed for his actions and yet too desperate for any sort of advantage in his dreadful situation. The Air Commander remained amicable towards him since their encounter in his quarters. It was disconcerting as Optimus had assumed Starscream would have felt malice towards him, but the feel of his EM field when they were close enough to mingle was genuinely pleasant.

Starscream had sneaked him a thermal blanket and even a few cubes of yellow energon, which Optimus had hidden in his subspace. He felt terrible using Starscream's situation this way, but he was desperate. Thankfully Starscream didn’t appear to be holding a grudge, perhaps because blackmail and bribery was the bread and butter of Decepticon interactions.

They both had something in common; a shared pain in the aft, as it were.

In the meantime, Optimus managed to work his free leg back tightly against his other one, folding them together and blocking access to his seams. He huffed again when the seekers simply backed away, waited as he defensively clenched up as best he could and stopped moving, and then regrouped and pounced on him again.

They were working together, using their clever fingers and servos to unwind him, careful not to injure. They were voracious in their movements and soon they were struggling at spreading his legs again. He could almost hear the eagerly flitting wings above his trapped frame.

Someone got their hand in between his thighs and finally forced them apart. He kicked at them again but his movements were slowing. He could be fighting a lot harder then he was, but he was tiring quickly and the otherwise gentle feel of the servos working over his plating didn’t seem particularly threatening. He has taken so much spike lately from a certain Decepticon Lord that he was getting used to it and struggled to work himself into a proper outrage anymore.

They finally took full control over his legs. A light flight frame worked his way in between them and started working clever fingers back into the tiny fitted space between his interface panel seams. Optimus hissed when they finally popped his panel free, instead of just opening it. He squirmed and grumbled for all the hands upon him.

“They removed my panel,” and now Optimus was starting to sound upset.

“Quit whining. You know it will just pop back in,” Starscream said, without the slightest pity. He was entirely unimpressed with all the fussing.

Optimus could feel them all around his lower body. He could feel their warm ex-vents along his legs, inner thighs and then over his bared array. Someone blew warm air over his valve and he clenched his trapped fists, nervous for the intrusion, nervous to be so bare and helpless before a crowd of aggressive enemies.What if they decided to hurt him? There was nothing he could really do to defend himself.

But then Optimus murmured in surprise as sudden flares of soft pleasure start winding through his valve and array. “What are they…?” and then he huffed again, “Are they…kissing…my…?”

“That would be Skywarp, and yes, yes he is. Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“This is inappro-“

And Optimus cut himself off, even as Starscream snorted in mirth.

Optimus murmured as another flush of pleasure warmed his plating... his soft engine-breath a low rumble in the enclosed space. It seemed Skywarp had backed off and someone else had taken his place, soft lip plating, more teasing kisses to his ever warming valve. Their whisper-soft touches were the same yet dissimilar, exploring his valve rim and the delicate inner creases. The gentle touches were sending tingles of pleasure though his sensor net.

“I didn’t think Decepticons allowed for,” a soft moan escaped his vocalizer as a clever glossa left a trail of oral lubricants up his nub, “expressions like this.”

“I am a Prince of Vos,” Starscream said, and there was an edge to his tone, a certain haughtiness. “These are Vosian jets, not crude, grimy-fingered build mechs. We know what to do with a valve.”

He couldn't argue that, especially when a soft mouthing kiss around his entrance had him squirming again, legs tensing, and then a clever glossa danced across his anterior node, moistening him with oral lubricants while many light servos rubbed up and down his inner thighs.

He flinched a little when he felt a trickle of his own lubricant escape and he gasped when he felt a glossa dip in to taste him, and then greedily push in for a little more.

The stroking was gentle and soothing along his thigh plating, light servos mischievously fingering seams and stroking inner wires. The teasing mouth withdrew and another took its place, this one more fervent. Warmth pooled  in his array as soft lip plating pushed down and worked through his folds, tasting him and leaving trails of oral lubricant and nibbling at his soft metal mesh.

Starscream noted his soft jerking movements. “A bit of denta? That’s Thundercracker. He’s good too.” He sighed, his mind wandering in memory.

Optimus didn’t answer; he would only be able to agree anyway. Instead he swallowed back another moan. Then that first clever mouth was back, more kisses up his slit and then the soft lips nuzzled him, the slick appendage sliding inside him, as deep as it could go to stimulate his deeper nodes.

His back arched and then a second mouth joined the first, nibbling along his outer mesh folds. The warmth built into a wonderfully aching heat between his legs as they suckled, licked, kissed and nibbled him ever closer to overload.

"Primus," Optimus moaned openly now, only barely keeping himself from pushing back against those pleasing intakes. It felt _so_ good, but he didn't want to encourage them. It was getting hard to remember he didn't want this.

His valve fluttered against the pleasing sensations, fluttered against those soft metal mouths on him. Then Skywarp wrapped clever lips around him, focusing attention on his anterior node, the shock of soft lip plating closing around the node and _sucking_ sending wild sensation lighting up his array and Optimus tumbled into overload, hips bucking and arching, releasing his charge into warm intakes.

Starscream watched, amused, as Optimus was coaxed into overload by his Armada.

They took turns leisurely licking and lapping him through his release as his valve slowly relaxed. Then they suddenly withdrew, and a puff of cold air wafted over his bared array, wet with proof of his pleasure and their oral lubricants.

Then a warm hand cupped him intimately, fingers curling possessively over the soft wet metal, a thumb greeting him with a single long, gentle stroke down his still-open slit. He recognized _that_ touch and knew who that servo belonged to.

Megatron had arrived.

“Starscream,” his voice boomed through the debris. “Not sitting on your aft shirking your responsibilities, are you? I see you continue to have difficulties navigating the bulkheads.”

“I could say the same for you, oh glorious leader.” Starscream's voice was comically muffled, and yet he still enthusiastically hurled the snark right back at Megatron from underneath the rubble. “Being an utterly worthless aft, I mean. How about you be useful for once and get this bulkhead off me?”

Starscream kicked out with his turbine-heel, trying to brace himself, sounding as if he was furious with his leader and yet his spark danced in traitorous greeting in its chamber in response to the larger build. These two have played such games with each other for a long, long time.

They heard Megatron scoff.

Two steps forward and heavy pedes braced themselves as powerful struts and servos bent to task. Then the heavy beam moved and the pressure was lifted from Optimus’ chest plates.

Optimus quickly twisted free. He was embarrassed to find himself surrounded by the Armada. They looked him over with eager eyes, down his plating and bare array, wings extended and flicking. Their electromagnetic fields were shot through with amusement and lust. He dropped his gaze in embarrassment and was about to get up, then remembered his array. He closed his legs, dropping his hand to cover his lower plating.

“Where is my plate?” Optimus asked, clinging to his dignity and doing his best to not show how embarrassed he actually was, all the while graceful Decepticon seekers leered at him playfully. He blinked and dropped his gaze again, avoiding their hungry stares. He might have been blushing, and all around him were graceful, flitting wings.

Megatron grinned down at him and Optimus realized that his interface panel was held ransom in Megatron's servos. A wave of apprehension joined his embarrassment. He really wanted his plate back, but didn’t want to play any of Megatron's little games to get it, certainly not while surrounded by the other Decepticons.

So much worse when there was an audience… but it seemed Megatron was too distracted to take advantage. He walked over to where Starscream remained trapped, placing Optimus’ interface panel down on some rubble. Then he smiled over at Optimus.

“I have it here,” and Megatron gestured to his captive. “Come and get it.”

Smirking, Megatron patted the plate. Then he knelt down and started tickling at Starscream’s heel turbine while Starscream struggled to get out from under the rest of the debris.

Starscream yelped and kicked furiously at Megatron, trying to aim for Megatron's stupid, smirking face. Starscream barely missing whacking said face plates with said heel, and Megatron stood back up. Thoroughly enjoying the moment, Megatron kept glancing between the shapely aft and heel turbines of his struggling jet and back over at his self-conscious captive. He was surrounded by wreck and waste and ruin. Yet, standing between his two favorite mechs - one embarrassed and blushing near his pedes and the other difficult and hissing threats - he suddenly felt strangely content, even happy.

Meanwhile, Optimus rolled over and sat up on his knees. He hesitated, staring mildly at his plate cover. He was still working out the most dignified way of walking over to Megatron to fetch it while keeping himself covered when the rest of the Decepticons finally finished uncovering Starscream.

A jag of pain reminded Optimus that he'd been given an order by his master, and must obey. He muttered to himself, “Why does this keep happening?” and was finally forced by the slave coding to just stand up, palm of his servo flat over his bare array, and walk towards the Slagmaker to get his interface plate.

“Did you forget already?” Starscream snorted as he stood up and wiped clean the last of the debris. “We are surrounded by pit-spawned glitches, that’s why.” He shot a pointed glare at his leader.

Megatron slapped Starscream's aft teasingly in reply and Starscream fearlessly punched him square in his face plates, followed up with a vicious knee right in his interface panel. They went down in a brutal tangle of limbs and shrieking threats and the tyrant’s booming laughter.

Optimus watched the exchange with quiet dismay as he snatched up his plate and reattached it. These two seemed to bounce between affection and hatred, love and attempted murder all within the space of a spark-beat. He felt like he would never understand these mechs and their inexplicable interactions.

 

* * *

 

Optimus was sitting in a chair in Megatron’s quarters later that afternoon, alone, carefully carving a chess piece with his small hot-blade.

He'd managed to scrape together more scrap metal for the chess set, and was hard at work carving up the board. Nearly half of the pieces were finished. He was still working on the king and queen pieces; they were the most difficult for him to carve out right.

Lost in his thoughts, Optimus realized he'd never been personally afraid of Megatron like he was now.

Always before true fear had been reserved for the well-being of other people; for the multitudes of his Autobot soldiers and the hundreds of worlds Megatron had conquered. He had never felt fear for what would happen to him as he charged into battle after battle against Megatron. He had been a free mech, making choices to protect others, even at the cost of his own life.

But now that had changed.

He remembered Starscream had told him that Megatron had seen him hide metal in his subspace and knew he was making something. _Megatron has been acting rather antagonistic recently,_ Optimus recognized. At least more so then normal. Their last interface came to mind; Megatron ordering him to medicate himself using his enemy’s own connector. He had been rather aggressive that entire day. Lately his interfacing with Optimus was more vigorous and he was demonstrating his dominance more frequently.

 _It feels like I am standing in the calm before a storm,_ and Optimus was still surprised that Megatron didn’t just force him to reveal what he was up to. _He probably thinks I am making some kind of weapon and is waiting for me to spring whatever trap he believes I have planned for him._

Optimus was actually waiting to share his creation until the game was complete and he could present it as a gift. He felt there was far better chance Megatron would accept it that way. He might also have to teach Megatron how to play, and Megatron would be more open to instruction if the board was a present given in gratitude for all of his … _hospitality._

The thought rankled. Optimus was anything but grateful for his captivity, but the results would be worth it if only to spare his frame the constant attention. He hoped Megatron wouldn’t be too disappointed that he wasn’t actually planning on any sort of attack and thus reject his offering. He knew he will never be able to fight the warlord directly again, no matter how much Megatron might miss their furious battles.

Soon Optimus found his mind meandering back towards his friend. _Ratchet has either found the other Autobots alive or he has succumbed to the elements or he's been taken by the Unicronians by now._

It had been far too long, and anything could have happened to his old friend. Optimus’ spark ached with worry for his dear companion, for his lost friends and loyal soldiers. He continued to work on the board - lost in thought - until his fingers grew clumsy from fatigue. Then he stopped for the evening and subspaced a bookfile and lost himself in Cybertron’s ancient past.

Many hours later, Megatron still had not returned. It was well past the time when he would normally appear. Fortunately Optimus had been well fueled as of late due to Megatron’s diligence, so skipping the evening fueling doesn’t leave him uncomfortable. He certainly didn’t mind missing the little game Megatron made of it. He was mildly nervous for the change in routine, but still grateful for the peace and quiet.

Finally, Optimus made his way over to the berth and settled down to recharge for the night. He drifted off into sleep alone, uncomfortably cold and yet still thankful for the solitude.

 

* * *

 

Optimus was recharging deep in the night when the sound of a scuffle woke him.

The first thing he noticed as he came back online was his frame was much colder than when Megatron was recharging with him. Megatron was still missing from their shared berth. Then he heard the scrape of metal plating and the clang of a kicking pede, and peered into the darkness around him. He zeroed in on the noises and could see that the wash rack door was open.

There were little flashes of red light flickering in the darkness along with _thumps_ and _thuds_ and the _scrip-scrape_ of metal over metal. After listening carefully to the clanging sounds of struggling and the conjoined thrumming of an excited, heavy war engine and the accompanying whine of a lighter flight-build, he realized that Megatron and Starscream were interfacing in the shower nearby.

It sounded rough.

Optimus rolled over to face the berth wall and tried not to listen, but the two Warrior Elite aren’t really trying to be quiet. He was reminded again how much Decepticons didn’t seem to care when others saw them interface. He still tried to ignore the sounds, but eventually realized it was going to be impossible. Especially after the scuffling stopped abruptly and Megatron began rumbling at Starscream and with his too-sensitive audials Optimus could (unintentionally) make out the words.

Apparently ever since the first Unicronian attack Starscream had been avoiding him again and Megatron didn’t like it. Optimus flinched, as he knew exactly why Starscream was desperately trying to keep his distance.

_If only I could manage the same..._

 

***

 

“You keep avoiding me in the halls, Starscream," hissed Megatron into Starscream's audial. His lips traced along Starscream's sensitive seam, and then he nipped at him, a mild threat. "Are you planning something I should be concerned about?”

“Well, _obviously_. Doesn’t that go without saying, oh glorious leader?”

“Yes and no, my dear Starscream. You just told me you were up to something, so that means you currently _aren’t_ up to anything yet or you would be watching that silver tongue of yours.”

Starscream scowled at being called out. Figuratively and literally in a corner, he responded by doing what he did best; lying through his razor sharp denta. “You certainly are enjoying him aren’t you? I am surprised you even noticed that I have better things to do then deal with your sorry aft. I can’t believe you even bothered to drag me out of the sky for this tonight. What do you even need _me_ for?”

Megatron scoffed at the (falsely) implied jealously. Decepticons were not monogamous after all, and Starscream was most certainly not saving himself for his leader. Starscream was his, and he was fully confidant in his own dominion over his jet’s frame; he was not so insecure as to require the other to only interface with him. Starscream had his trine and the seeker armada after all and some time-honored ‘con domination tactics involved interfacing; forced as punishment or offered as a consensual reward.

Megatron had never given Starscream any trouble for side-line interfacing for any reason. Likewise, Starscream could hardly expect Megatron not to enjoy his new berth mate. Starscream was clearly being unreasonable.

“You are _both_ mine,” Megatron pointed out.

Starscream jerked himself free and threw his wings out dramatically, as if he were actually furious at his leader over a grave slight instead of trying to hide what was to him a very, very critical weakness. “You prefer _him_ to me. Why the slag should I play second best when I can have anyone I want at any time I want?”

Megatron just rolled his optics, the red lights shining brightly in the gloom, glinting off their still-steaming plating. He was entirely unmoved by all the flailing. _Prissy little jet._ He wasn't sure what Starscream was up to yet, but he _was_ certain the theatrics were merely a cover for a sort of deeper issue, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out what.

Starscream's next volley actually upset him, though.

“I want a break. From you. You have Prime now, so it’s not like you are going without. I can’t believe you have enough coolant in your body to do this tonight. I know you have been clanging him practically every fragging cycle since we picked him up.”

Megatron hissed in frustration. He was growing tired of his jet’s fussing and took Starscream's wily mouth to quiet all of the irritatingly irrational noises coming out of it.

Starscream arched his back strut for the feel of it. His optics went wide for shock. For Megatron did not kiss, _ever_. He nipped or bit, but never offered something so ... so _intimate_. Shocked, Starscream fought back as a kiss was stolen from him and then he was overwhelmed and taken, brutally. He loved it, he really did, but he was also alarmed for the softer edges he kept encountering from his leader.

Then Starscream found himself crushed between the heavy warbuild and the wall. He hooked his legs around Megatron's waist and held on --- held on for his life. Megatron tilted his hip struts up for the deepest angle, snarled into Starscream's audial, and buried himself deep. They cried out in shared pain and delight as he battered Starscream furiously. The wall groaned and buckled for their ferocity, for their writhing.

"There, there, there," cried Starscream, his fingers clenching so tightly as to buckle metal, his back arching, so close. Another sharp, brutal thrust and they shuddered as they found release together. A shared gasp and another, and then Megatron slid down the wall to his knees, with Starscream's spasming valve still clenching around his spike.

"And you said you wanted a break," sneered Megatron, seeming triumphant ... but then there was an audible _click_ and Starscream jolted and stiffened when their systems locked together again. “ _This_ is what you are worried about, isn’t it?” and Megatron scoffed, re-adjusting his grip on his lover to be more threatening. “It is just a frame lock, it means nothing. It is utterly harmless.”

“You are far from utterly harmless!” and now Starscream was shrieking. He kicked out with his legs, his turbines revving threateningly, his face livid. His EM fields were spiking and there was no questioning how upset he was. “You could rip my array right out of --- we don’t have a real medic anymore, you fragger!”

Megatron snorted, unmoved. “I am not going to harm you.” Realizing what he'd just said, and after what he'd just been doing ... Megatron just laughed as he corrected himself. “At least, not like that.”

The silence between them stretched. It grew deafening as Starscream refused to break eye contact, refused to back down. “I want to take a break," and his words were deathly harsh. "For now. I am serious. You have Prime.”

Megatron frowned down at Starscream, taken aback, all the while noting Starscream's ventilations, which were bordering on hyperventilation. They echoed around the small room. _He really is_ _upset_ , and the corner of Megatron's lip quirked downward when he realized Starscream wasn't backing down from his demands. He knew he was a hard ride, but _really_?

“I will consider it,” Megatron said finally.

Megaron's words sounded sincere, but his sole intention was to calm Starscream down while they were locked together. For he had no intention of allowing such a thing, for any reason. _Prime is far less trouble it is true, but I want you too. We have such history between us. No one keeps my interest as you have. I won’t relinquish you._

"You'd better," Starscream threatened, suddenly fearless and reckless, likely for the seeming concession. "If you know what's good for you."

Sighing, Megatron chose to ignore that, and wrapped his arms back around Starscream and hefted him up. He carried Starscream out of the small room and then stretched him out on his back on the berth, settling in for the night.

Starscream groaned as Megatron settled his substantial weight over the much lighter frame, holding Starscream down and motionless. They never slept together like this; Starscream always preferred his own quarters and Megatron liked his privacy.

But tonight was an exception.

Megatron noted that Prime had already moved over as far as possible against the wall, curled over on his side. It was obvious that Optimus was doing everything in his power to not move or bring any attention to the fact he wasn’t in recharge. There was just enough room for two mechs on the berth, and Starscream’s wings just barely fit.

Still amused for the turn the night had taken, Megatron adjusted himself until he was comfortable and started to cycle down. But as soon as he was resting quietly, his spike twitched, and he became aware of a pulsing heat inside Starscream’s array.

Megatron in-vented and then sighed again. The pulsing was the same as before, but now that he wasn’t moving his body was cycling down. His entire focus centered on the squeeze around his connector, which was getting distracting. His spike, already half-pressurized, was starting to harden again.

“Try to settle down Starscream,” and even as Megatron uttered the words he knew them to be pointless. His spike tightened another fraction and he could already feel Starscream's valve pick up the throbbing a little.

“Frag you,” Starscream hissed in his audial. “I can’t help it. _You_ settle down. This is all your fault, anyway. And I can’t believe you recharge with your helmet on. Really? That looks so uncomfortable. I don’t know how Prime puts up with you.”

Megatron just snorted.

Then Megatron moved a little, trying to relax but was unable to ignore the pulsing around his spike. Starscream hissed as well, but there was nothing he could do about it either. The clenching and pulsing continued, massaging Megatron's spike relentlessly, and he rumbled deep in his chest plates. This had happened the last time too. _Unfortunate that he is infertile like the rest of us._

It was a mournful thought.

Then Megatron groaned as he overloaded again from all of the pulsing. It was a long, full release. The unusually strong charge knocked Starscream over too, and his wings beat a fluttering cadence against the berth.

And between them, the first stirrings of life.

For a long time Starscream remained awake. The barest beginnings of a familiar fluttering were tickling inside his abdominals, and he stared upwards with an unblinking gaze.

Megatron remained oblivious, though he hadn't yet drifted off to recharge. Starscream was taut beneath him and until he settled down, the Slagmaker remained wary. They never slept together like this. It really was dangerous to be so close to Starscream in such a normally unguarded moment. Many, many attempts had been made on his life over the long eons.

Eventually Starscream relaxed enough to start to drift away. He was almost lost to recharge when Megatron's lips brushed his cheek. He heard Megatron murmur in his audial, “The answer is no. No break. You can stop being so damned _Autobot_ about the locking, and I swear I will not use it against you for any reason.”

It didn’t matter now. Starscream no longer had to avoid Megatron anymore. Now the problem was Soundwave again. _Frag me_ , thought Starscream. _Frag my stupid life,_ and he grumbled something vitriolic, and then cycled down into a restless recharge.

Megatron grinned sleepily. Then he threw out an arm and pulled Prime snug against him, enjoying the feel of both frames against his plating. His dark servos held firm around his berth mates and his electromagnetic fields thrummed oh-so-happily for it.

Prime was the last to relax, not long after the dominant frame in their little pile fell into a light, wary recharge. Cracking an optic, Optimus stole a glance over at Starscream as he warily readjusted himself until he was comfortable. He couldn't help but feel a rush of pity for Starscream.

They were not so different.

And yet they _were_ different in one very critical way. Because for all of his troubles and for whatever he claimed while awake, the truth was Starscream was exactly where he wanted to be. Prime watched as, in his sleep, Starscream sleepily stole the kiss back from Megatron and then nestled closer. His wings flicked in satisfaction and Megatron murmured in his sleep.

***

 

The next morning found all three mechs deep in recharge in a tangle of warm limbs.

Megatron slowly ambled towards wakefulness, almost too comfortable to bother. Starscream was nuzzled into his frame, and served as a surprisingly comfortable berth pad, even as the warbuild served as a warm and heavy berth cover. Sometime in the night, Prime had half burrowed into his side, and the three of them drowsed together, engines purring.

Eventually he cracked an optic open wide enough to check his internal chronometer. He groaned when he realized he'd slept in for joors later than normal. And then his optics shot open when he realized he was late for a meeting that he himself had scheduled for early that morning.

_Frag._

He hated being late and never tolerated it from his own troops. He threw himself out of the berth with a snarl, accidentally bumping Starscream’s wing and jolting Starscream out of his own recharge.

Starscream awoke with a hiss. He glowered at Megatron in annoyance and then muttered _“oh frag”_   when he too noted the time. He didn't get up however, as he was content lay back and watch Megatron bustle around while getting ready to leave. Unlike Megatron, Starscream didn’t have anywhere he had to be, yet. He even grinned when he saw Megatron frantically wiping his plating clean to make himself presentable.

Clearly flustered, Megatron grabbed two cubes of energon and headed toward the door to a meeting with Onslaught. He downed one cube in a single gulp, without wasting a single drop. "Help Optimus clean up and then get out of my quarters," ordered Megatron, while kicking open the door. "And don't think I won't notice if anything is tampered with."

“Hey,” Starscream yelled after him. “Tell Prime to obey me so I can handle him safely!”

Prime sat up on the berth, feeling off-balanced. “I won’t harm you,” he said groggily, sounding insulted at the suggestion.

“Prime, obey Starscream as you would obey me,” Megatron commanded as he paused in the doorway, spearing Starscream with an intense stare. “And Starscream, he is _mine._ You had best remember that. You have my permission to order him to clean up, but nothing more.”

And with that, Megatron was out the door and gone.

Starscream watched as Megatron disappeared, and smiled to himself. Then he slowly reclined back onto the berth, his eyes sharp and every line seething satisfaction. Prime glanced back at him warily, and then looked over at the shower. He was very clearly wanting to clean himself.

“So,” Starscream said, his voice honeyed poison. “Remember that time you blackmailed me?” and then his mouth curved into a lazy grin as he opened his interface panel with a _snick_ and watched as the fluid from last night started to drain out. “Because _I_ certainly do. Let me show you why _nobody_ crosses me."

Then Starscream pointed down at himself with gusto. "Now ... get cleaning.”

Prime froze when he realized what it was Starscream was ordering him to do, but there was no recourse. He had to obey ... especially when Starscream grabbed his helm and guiding his reluctant intakes down to Starscream's messy array with a razor sharp grin.

 

* * *

 

Divebomb was the first to notice.

He was charged with burying the defeated Sweep’s parts as trash due to his low status among the Decepticons, a task he did without complaint while he plotted revenge against the couple of ‘cons that had enjoyed his punishment to excess a few nights ago. But he'd noticed that the small ravine they were burying the bodies in was being dug up by the Sweeps, and even the crushed pieces of their defeated foes were being taken away. The ground was covered in slash and dig marks, matching the slicing claws of the Unicronian drones. It seemed they were digging up the pieces of their decimated dead.

Ordinarily the Decepticons would simply collect any defeated foes and tear apart the bodies to recycle the parts, but the Unicronian Sweeps didn’t make for any reusable parts. They were originally created by Unicron and their internals did not match up with normal Cybertronian components; as the Cybertronians were originally created by Primus.

The children of the two rival Gods were utterly incompatible.

The Decepticons had resorted to tearing apart the bodies and just burying the pieces, the assumption being that if they cut the Sweeps into small enough chunks they could not be reanimated. But Divebomb’s discovery suggested otherwise, and Megatron ordered the bodies burned. He now suspected even the dismembered corpses are being reconstructed and reanimated. It would explain why the Decepticons hadn't seem to make any dents in the Unicronian Lord’s forces, no matter how many Sweeps they killed.

***

 

The Unicronian attacks continued.

During their frequent skirmishes, Optimus began taking position inside the main entrance to help defend. He normally stayed inside as the Sweeps keep trying to single him and Starscream out if they could, trying to pull them away.

Optimus’ first real escape attempt counted on that fact. During one skirmish he worked his way to the entrance and allowed himself to be grabbed by the first Sweep that made the attempt.

It hissed and pulled him outside the entrance and he did not struggle with it, allowing it to guide him. Immediately another Sweep grabbed hold of him, joining the first. Optimus let them pull him from the entrance of the base and out into the open ground while the fighting raged around him. Within moments the two Sweeps took to the air with him in tow.

Fortunately no one seemed to notice.

When Optimus felt he was far enough away, he subspaced his battle axe and fought them off. His sudden voracity startled them. He smashed their clinging limbs and took out their flight engines and they fell from the sky. One broke away from him and fled, while he quickly dispatched the other.

Optimus regained his pedes and took a hurried look around. He thrilled to realize he'd been flown clear of the Decepticon fortress! He could see it hulking in the distance and turned to regard the base carefully. He was perhaps a half-mile out and the nearest crevasse was only a bare mile away. If he transformed and fled now, he might make it!

Optimus turned to face the horizon with its promise of freedom and tried to transform. A sudden pain lanced through him. He fell to his knees with a gasp. _Must not leave master,_ the coding whispered in his mind, and his spark sank in his chest. He tried again and again, but the coding viciously lashed him each time, to the point where his helm hit the ground as he fought the monster in his mind.

Finally Optimus slumped his shoulders in defeat. There was no escape this way, and he slowly stood up. He was forced to give up trying to leave and the coding released its hold over his limbs. Apparently escape was not going to be as straight forward as he'd hoped.

Optimus closed his eyes in trepidation. He'd assumed Megatron’s wish that he struggle would mean the coding would let him try to flee, but apparently the order was taken by the coding to mean only _mental_ struggle. He couldn’t physically flee his master. He could think of no reason why he would flee the base with which to argue the coding into submission.

Far behind him, the Sweeps were regrouping and fleeing towards the horizon.

Another failed attack.

Optimus heard a rush of flight engines above him, and Starscream transformed mid-air and landed next to him. His fierce landing sending puffs of dust and grit swirling from the turbines in his legs. Then Starscream cocked his helm and watched Optimus for a moment, his wings flicking back a notch for surprise. Then he reached out a servo and clamped it on Optimus’ arm.

“Why didn’t you just transform and make a break for it?” Starscream asked, curious. “Megatron sent me out here to delay you until he could fetch you himself … with a punishment frag inbound if you put up a fight. Why didn’t you try to escape?”

“I… couldn’t. The slave code wouldn’t let me.”

“Well, that’s going to make things difficult for you, isn’t it?” Starscream remarked in an off-hand sort of way. He didn't seem to care much, and was more interested in watching the last of the retreating Sweeps as they disappeared over the horizon.

“Unfortunately, yes," Optimus admitted, sounding glum. "I may need to arrange to be taken and thrown down the deep trenches. I will not be able to walk away myself.”

“Good luck bribing someone to do that for you," said Starscream with a smirk. "Oh, and before you ask, no, I won’t do it. Go ahead and tell Megs about me. See where that gets you. I could make things way, way worse for you, if you cross me again.”

Starscream's threat sounded almost casual, but he was unwilling to allow any further concessions. It didn't help that his attempt to punish Prime for blackmailing him had sort of backfired. Who knew that the Autobot wasn’t the squeamish prude Starscream had taken him for? After his initial surprise, Optimus had bent to the task without complaint, actually using the opportunity to sincerely apologize to one he felt he'd wronged. Starscream had been at first confused, annoyed, and then overloaded, all in that order.

Now Optimus looked over at him, pale optics calm and composed. “I will not betray you to Megatron. I know I have intruded upon you enough as it is. I regret resorting to such measures.”

“Whatever,” Starscream replied, reading the look in Prime’s optics and rejecting the gentle sentimentality he saw there. “That’s your pathetic weakness blathering aloud again. If you have an advantage, take it. That is the Decepticon way. Just… don’t cross _me_ , that’s all. And like it or not, you are one of us now.”

Optimus just looked away. He wasn’t a Decepticon. He was an Autobot, and he should be better than this. The base loomed up before him, with its promise of more humiliation to come.

“I still think you need to fragging relax a little," Starscream sniffed. "Is being Megatron’s favorite that horrible? Seriously, I have never seen him treat anyone as gently as he treats you.”

“Try it,” Optimus growled back at him. “Starscream, when your secret finally gets out, you know our situations may be very similar. Will you be so… _relaxed_ when it is your turn to be helpless before the whims of another?”

Starscream's eyes widened at that and Optimus knew he had made his point. As gentle as Megatron was currently being, it was still all abject humiliation. He reluctantly turned around and started walking slowly towards the base and whatever Megatron had planned for him that night.

Starscream stared pensively after him as he left.

 


	15. Mistakes Were Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron has his revenge on Prime for that thing Starscream was actually responsible for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-con sticky oral, Non-con sticky. Inappropriate uses of energon.

That afternoon battle had ended very well for the Decepticons, all things considered.

Megatron _was_ rather disappointed when Prime re-entered the base - a pensive Starscream a long ways behind him - seemingly making no attempt to escape the Decepticons after being hauled out of the base by the Sweeps. Prime merely dropped his head and walked back as if nothing had happened.

The inevitable drudge work of battle was now underway, and Prime helped with the cleanup. He walked over to help gather up the deactivated bodies of the Sweeps, the ones that hadn’t been dragged away by their own.

Astrotrain and Motormaster passed by a slightly disappointed Megatron, supporting a wounded Blitzwing and heading towards the medbay while the injured mech grumbled at having to spend time with Hook today.

“Just shoot me,” Blitzwing droned as they shuffled past their leader. “It vould be quicker and vey less annoying.”

Astrotrain nodded in glum agreement. His wing was slashed and hanging at a rough angle, and would need to be reset back in its socket. He looked just as thrilled as Blitzwing to be heading towards the medbay. None of their injuries appeared life threatening though, so Megatron didn't bother to follow after them. Between Motormaster and Astrotrain, the constructicon medic wouldn’t be getting away with much.

“Nice fight, eh Prime?” Acid Storm beamed as he dragged one of the dead Sweeps towards the entrance. His bright green wings were high-set and internal fluid still trickled merrily down his frame from the slashes he'd taken from the Sweep's razor talons.

Prime looked up at him, surprised by the sparkfelt greeting and nodded at him.

Then Prime worked without comment and the Armada closed in around him, wings flitting with the faintest suggestion of flirtation as they bent to work. Skywarp’s wings were close enough to touch and the ailerons flicked several times in Prime's direction. He didn’t seem to notice, not picking up on the subtleties of seeker wing-language yet.

Megatron joined in with the grunt work as he always did.

He helped his soldiers and Prime clear out the mess the Unicronian attack had left of the front of their base while simultaneously putting himself in between the flight mechs and his berth mate, and they took the hint.

“So, when does he get his own quarters?” Skywarp asked Megatron, impishly, leaving his real questions unspoken but implied by the cant of his wings and his expression. _When does he become one of us? When will we get the chance to start courting him and his lovely interface array?_

Prime shot a side line glance at Megatron, though he didn’t waste any hope on the notion of separate living spaces. The unspoken questions between the two Decepticons passed right over his helm, the sentiments unrecognized. ‘Own quarters’ was all he heard, and that would be wonderful.

“Never,” Megatron replied cheerfully. _Mine, mine forever._

Prime dropped his helm back to his work, not surprised. Megatron then slipped in a few ‘inappropriate touches’ as Prime had called them, running one hand down his back strut and crowding him a bit whenever possible as they worked.

For the first time since Prime’s capture, Megatron intentionally let the more belligerent of his solders see these gentle touches. He aggressively held the gazes of the few of them that stared.

The Armada had already had their taste and they understood. But the harsher members of his faction (that would be most of them) wouldn’t, and he wanted them to get used to the idea that Prime was more to him then a mere toy. At the very least they understood the threat in his optics, and looked away.

Prime didn't complain. He accepted all touches from Megatron without a response, but his fields thrummed with feelings of hopelessness and depression and the ever present twinges of fear.

Megatron frowned for the feel of him. _Something must be done about that...being_ _so fearful after so long is useless._ Nothing bad had happened to Prime to warrant such fear while in his custody, as least as far as he was concerned. Admittedly he had an entirely different definition of ‘bad’ then the Autobot did, but still.

Standing next to his captive, Megatron extended his electromagnetic field, and brushed his strong one against the other, sharing his sense of satisfaction for their victory. His approval would have calmed any of his soldiers, though it seemed to have no effect on Prime.

As a mech who had never experienced true helplessness, he honestly could not understand the fear emanating from Prime. He simply assumed it was centered on the treatment Prime had endured under Galvatron.

Standing next to his captive, Megatron decided to redouble his efforts to sooth and pleasure the other into a more relaxed submission, instead of the endless cloud of dread he insisted on living under.

 _Over sensitive Autobot,_ Megatron thought, this time without the internal sneer.

…

Night had fallen.

The Sweep bodies were now being burnt out front of the base in bonfires. Most of the Decepticons were enjoying the heat of the fires that brightened the bitter darkness with festive dancing light.

Megatron watched Prime slip away early in the evening after the work was done. He knew his captive didn’t enjoy mingling with his new Decepticon brothers yet and was clearly headed for the safety of their shared quarters.

Megatron let him go without trouble. Instead, he relaxed and relished the bonfires and the cheerful shouts and boasts and other life-affirming noise coming from his warriors as they celebrated victory over the burning bodies of the defeated. He enjoyed the warmth of the largest fire for a moment longer, and then excused himself from the celebrations. A few of his mechs yelled farewells and good nights at him and he lifted a servo in acknowledgment as he left.

Walking back into the base, Megatron strode leisurely through the corridors of his fortress. He slowly walked down the hallway towards his quarters, looking forward to spending the evening with his captive.

Megatron entered their quarters and could hear the sounds of a shower starting up. Prime must have heard him coming and tried to delay their interactions that night in the only way he could.

 _Fair enough,_ he allowed, walking into the middle of the room and pausing while listening to the muted sounds of splattering fluid. _Prime has earned it. He worked hard along with the others today, defending our home and then helping with the aftermath._

Megatron gathered up a few cubes and seated himself at the small table in his quarters to wait. Four cubes of energon sat in front of him, their nightly ration. He dipped a finger into the yellow energon and licked it clean, considering how he would be feeding Prime tonight. It was always sensual now, always leading to intimacy between them.

He felt it was a better way to start their interfacing then simply ordering Prime down. He was putting more thought into their interactions, now that the first few weeks of unfettered access and frequent rutting had cooled him down.

Somewhat. Alright, not really at all. He couldn’t seem to get enough, actually. But he _was_ being far more thoughtful about it.

The shower was running a little long, but he was trying to exercise his patience, and let the other take his time. Finally the fluid stopped, and the shower went quiet. He waited a little longer, and then he heard a splash and realized Prime was now in the basin, soaking.

Propping his pede out onto a nearby chair, he settled back with a sigh. He could be patient. _I still despise being patient,_ and he frowned. Then he threw his helm back against the back of the chair with a light clang. But Prime had earned himself a good soak today, and so he discarded any thoughts of joining his favorite while he bathed.

Finally he heard Prime drain the basin. Another long pause, and a glimpse of red and blue plating lingering in the doorway, and then slowly Prime emerged from the shower.

“Cleaned up then?” Megatron called out cheerfully as he watched Prime step out from the wash rack. Had anyone ever left a shower any slower? He doubted it, and the sight of the oh-so-hesitant Prime amused him deeply. Dropped his pede from the chair to the floor, Megatron's plating flared out in growing anticipation.

“You seemed downcast this afternoon. Well, more than normal, anyway,” Megatron chuckled and shook his helm when Prime turned towards him but wouldn't meet his optics.

“You should be proud. We have defeated our enemies,” Megatron raised a cube in a toast, “and the bonfire tonight ensures their numbers will be fewer.” He watched as Prime eyed their rations from where he stood across the room. Then Prime dropped his helm and seemed to shrink into himself. He knew what would be coming next.

“Hopefully you are feeling better,” Megatron said with a small smile. He actually meant it... _at some point you will lose that useless fear of me,_ he silently promised while watching Prime try to keep his distance.

“I was,” Prime answered, but dropped his helm in clear submission after he said it and glanced up questioningly at Megatron. His helm was pointed at Megatron, but not actually meeting his gaze. Megatron gestured for the other to join him, choosing to ignore the tiny slight.

Prime sat down on the chair farthest away and looked at the energon with a resigned expression. Meanwhile, Megatron took a sip from his cube and tilted his head thoughtfully at the subdued other. Then he gestured at a much closer chair. “You _did_ want to fuel tonight I assume? Come closer.”

Prime looked up at him, dropped his head to look at the cubes, and then finally met Megatron's eyes as he moved himself much closer then he wished. “You know you have made your point. How long am I to be punished? I have behaved myself, haven’t I? How long do you intend to keep feeding me like I am some sort of…pet?”

“Oh please. An animal eats off the _floor_ , Prime. Perhaps I simply enjoy touching you.”

Prime just frowned at that as he was certain he knew the truth. Megatron enjoyed how much he hated being fed and the demonstrations of dominance over his body. Clearly there would be no cession of that particular humiliation. He looked away, his quiet eyes returning to that distant place of inner vision.

“However,” Megatron conceded, “You have been very helpful as of late.” He took another sip as he contemplated, and glanced at Prime curiously. “I was surprised you didn’t try to flee today. I was expecting to have to collect you myself.”

Prime looked down at the cube with a remote expression. “That is not possible.”

“Ah. I see.” Megatron watched him carefully. “Go ahead then.” He gestured at the fuel and nodded at Prime in acknowledgement. “For now,” he added in warning.

For the truth was, Megatron greatly enjoyed feeding Prime. He enjoyed handling Prime far too much to completely stop. It was an expression of dominance, true, but it was less about inflicting humiliation anymore. Now the interaction was merely for the pleasure of running his servos over the quiet other. He watched Prime blink in surprise at the concession and then hesitantly lifted a cube with steady hands. When nothing negative happened, Prime started to drink.

Megatron took another sip of his cube, but pushed his other cube to the side with a faint smile. Prime glanced at it warily for a moment. Having participated in enough of Megatron’s little games now, he knew the action was significant for their next interaction.

Megatron watched him and then hooked a pede around a leg of his chair and slowly pulled him a bit closer. Prime stiffened, and adjusted himself so as not to spill his fuel.

Then Megatron lifted his pede, nudged Prime’s legs apart and placed it flush against Prime’s closed interface panel. He could feel the other’s fields then, quiet and subdued. They were lanced through with apprehension, fear, and something else... perhaps helpless desperation. He committed himself to replace at least one of those sad emotions with some positive ones tonight. He activated a component in his leg and his armored tank treads began to vibrate.

Prime startled as the flat bottom of the heavy pede pressed firmly against his interface panel. He looked down and then blinked in realization as the vibrations caused sensation to travel from his panel to his sensitive components hidden behind it. He felt his lower body begin to warm as a slow pleasant sensation began to wind up his sensor net.

Megatron continued to sip his first cube, ignoring his captive with the faintest of smiles.

Prime swallowed as the sensations started to pool in his array. He hesitated and then finished his cubes quickly. He looked down at the table and huffed softly as the vibrations were gently rousing his valve sensors and he ran his fingers over both his half-shuttered optics, resting his servos on the bridge of his nasal sensor.

A few moments later and Prime shivered, and then readjusted his pedes. Megatron watched him squirm, feeling as mild arousal crept, unbidden, into Prime's fields as the minutes passed and the gentle vibrations did their work.

Megatron increased the pressure on the panel and was amused when Prime made a small noise. He kept the pressure on until he could see a glimmer of wetness in the seams of the array, and then swiftly removed his pede. He cleared the table in single motion, clearing the empty cubes off the table and moving the full one to a spare chair.

“Come here,” Megatron ordered.

Prime obeyed quietly, noting the cleared table. He now had an idea what his captor had planned and he mentally settled himself, intending to hold on to as much dignity as possible.

Megatron noted the drop in Prime's mood and decided that no matter what, he was going to get a rise out of that very quiet, depressed vocalizer tonight. Then he pulled Prime into his lap, and his engine rumbled in satisfaction to see the faint glimmer had become a tiny trickle of lubricant from behind the interface panel.

Megatron had found that all interactions needed to start gently at first or the Autobot would be knocked out of the mood for fear. Only a few or no orders given, or the Autobot would feel trapped and helpless, and the mood would be lost again. It was almost a game to him. He tapped the panel, and Prime opened for him immediately, as he must.

Megatron took a moment as he often did now to just to admire the sight, the perfect shape and the biolights with their faint glowing and flickering. The bruising was mostly gone, and a healthy color has returned to the soft metal. A few drops of lubricant escaped the valve slit, and the faintest signs of quivering were beginning. He touched the trembling rim with one finger, and with his other servo he pulled reluctant intakes down into a kiss.

He started with a gentle mouthing caress, and then ran his glossa lightly over the Prime’s delicate mouth. He had begun paying attention to what Prime liked in their last few interfaces, what warmed his internals and plating as confirmed by his movements and his electromagnetic field. Prime unintentionally assured Megatron through his fields that he enjoyed the kissing, gentle at first, harder when he finally worked his captive into something other then anxiety.

He continued his attentions with his intakes, and with his hand he ran his thumb down the slit, gathering the escaped fluid, slicking his fingers with it. Then he dipped his fingers in and began his gentle play with Prime's valve.

Megatron took his time with Prime’s mouth as well, and worked over the lip plating thoroughly. Then he slipped his glossa inside, playing with the reluctant tongue curled in the other’s intakes.

His fingers dip and swirl in the captive valve, teasing internal nodes and sensors, gathering fluids and slipping in deeper and deeper. His thumb was dedicated to stimulation of the outer anterior node and he added another finger inside after a moment, and was gratified to feel the walls trembling, and the calipers stirring at his touch.

Prime was shivering now, and his hips and thighs were twitching and his fingers clenching. Megatron could feel the electric charge building and decided his captive was ready. He quickly picked up the other mech by his hip struts and carefully laid him out on the table.

It was sturdy enough to take their weight without complaint. Megatron settled over Prime, supporting his weight on his knees on either side of Prime's hip struts. He stole another kiss, keeping the mood from the chair, and then started down Prime's frame, using his charged hands to keep the shy arousal alive and then he kissed his way down Prime's body.

He ex-vented a warm breath over Prime's valve and nuzzled it, mouthing at the soft mesh. He was amused when Prime startled for the intimate touch, even after all their play, and then he flicked the tip of his glossa along the slit. He traced the tiny trickles of lubricant that dripped out, his glossa prickling with the charge building between Prime’s legs, pleased to see his efforts were paying off.

“I don’t know why you taste so good,” he murmured to the quivering metal, blowing a hot ex-vent over plush folds, “but you do.”

“Why are you doing this?” he heard Prime whisper to him as he tried and failed to keep from squirming under the playful touches. “You keep doing this and I don’t understand. You could just take what you want.” He gasped as Megatron pressed his mouth in a little more firmly and nibbled his nub.

Oral play was about pleasuring another, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around Megatron playing with him in this way, and it kept happening, over and over. Not to mention all the kissing and other gentle touches over the last week. He gasped again, and threw his helm back and moaned softly as the other’s glossa swirled around his sensitive folds and teased his anterior node. He didn’t want to enjoy it, but lately he couldn’t help himself. Megatron was getting very, very good at stimulating his frame.

“Because I wish to,” Megatron finally answered, in between probing licks. “And for the record, Prime, turnabout is fair play.” Prime looked up at him, optics bright with confusion and arousal. Megatron grinned at him and took the cube with one hand while the other continued to massage Prime’s plating.

Then Prime gasped as Megatron used two charged fingers to spread his folds wide and carefully poured the contents of the cube into his valve passage. The flood of energon was cool and the energy tingled against his sensitive metal. The coolness faded quickly and he clenched his fists as the fluid rapidly warmed inside of him and the feel of it filling him, setting off every single node simultaneously was a shock. Taken completely by surprise, Prime threw his head back and overloaded with a sharp cry.

Megatron grinned as he watched Prime spasm in overload, his legs kicking out unconsciously. Oh, how he knew the feeling.

Prime was feeling the aftershocks when Megatron’s intakes descended upon him again, and began to slip inside, licking and sucking at the warm fluid that filled him. His captive’s hips arched and he moaned. Within moments he was scrabbling with his servos at the table, trying to get a grip, his body shuddering with returning need. The glossa ran along his nodes deeper in his passage and he instinctively reached out with his hands and grasped at the helm of the other.

Prime heard the other’s engine rumble, pleased with the touch on his helm, and he withdrew his servos just as swiftly as he remembered himself. But then the glossa dipped in again and again, lapping at him endlessly, sliding along his walls and along his sensors and nodes, a slick, soft ecstasy. A thumb continually petted over his anterior node even as the glossa continued to probe and taste him. He couldn’t stop gasping and squirming as Megatron firmly and methodically licked him clean, leaving not a drop behind.

Prime was openly moaning now, engine roaring, his valve alight with furious sensation. He shuddered, grinding his delightfully aching, throbbing valve as hard as he could against the intakes that were pleasuring him so utterly, wanting more.

After a long moment he realized his servos were back on Megatron's helm, pushing down, pressing the sucking and nibbling mouth feverishly against his needy port, his body curling up and around the pleasuring other. He couldn't strangle back his soft cries of pleasure, couldn't remove his servos, couldn't control himself anymore, too wild with need now.

“Do you want me within you?” Megatron murmured, withdrawing a bit to ask. His own plating was burning hot from all of the thrashing and moaning, and his spike was pressed tightly against his closed interface panel.

Crying out an affirmative, Prime was too lost in sensation to do anything else. Megatron opened his panel with a _snick,_ and his spike pressurized almost instantly. He grinned and surged in harsh and deep, knowing Prime was fully ready for him, even to his deepest nodes.

He thrust powerfully, and was gratified when Prime grew loud for the first time in his captivity, crying out with each thrust in between frantic gasps. Prime clung to his plating with a tight grip, pulling Megatron against him tightly, valve clenching and rippling around the burning hot spike that filled him so utterly, ridges working over his deepest nodes.

Megatron ground down hard, and Prime bucked beneath him, his vents heaving in gasps. Prime pushed his own hips back into each of Megatron’s thrusts, driving him in deeper. Unbidden, he threw his legs around his owner’s hips, pulling him in furiously, the charge between them rapidly building towards overload.

Megatron spilled over first, and the shock of his releasing charge and the hot transfluid pulsing over his ceiling node pulled Prime over after him.

 

* * *

 

Optimus’ next attempt to escape came after a fierce battle with the Unicronian forces.

Galvatron and his forces had flown out from their base and intended to attack in the mid-afternoon, but were shocked when the Decepticons met them half way between the two bases, thanks to the efforts of Soundwave and his cassettes.

Laserbeak had caught sight of the approaching assault force and reported her findings to Soundwave, and the ‘cons had roared out of the base to meet the Unicronians head on.

Optimus heard the commotion as everyone and a couple of Predacons headed towards the exit in a rush of pounding pedes and screeching tires and scrabbling claws and flicking wings.

Optimus headed down towards the main entrance to find out what was going on. He arrived just as Starscream flew out the main entrance hatch while chasing after a charging Megatron, yelling about attack strategies and flight formations and using ground cover and troop logistics and-

“-For frag’s sake we aren’t just going to _throw ourselves_ at them without the slightest plan in place-"

His high-pitched shrieking faded in the distance as the Decepticons charged out in a disordered mass to meet the Unicronians currently on route in the distance. Prime stared out after them, a lone figure standing in the entrance of the base.

It was hours later when the Decepticons funneled back to base - Megatron nowhere to be seen - and Starscream positively beaming with spark felt joy. The Decepticon Supreme Commander had been injured in battle and had fallen down a crevasse while grappling in midair with Galvatron.

Starscream had immediately ordered a retreat after declaring his former leader dead. The rest of the Decepticons had eyed each other in disbelief and then reluctantly obeyed the call, as no one crossed Air Commander Starscream.

Starscream was in command now.

…

Optimus remained in a defensive position near the entrance of the base as was his routine during battles, and heard the bad news as soon as the Decepticons returned to base.

“Not this slag again,” Brawl rumbled as he and the other Combaticons re-entered the base. Onslaught threw a sharp glance at his subordinate and made a silencing gesture. It wasn’t safe to talk openly right now and they all knew it.

Megatron had pulled the tarp out from under Starscream too many times for the ‘cons to take his supposed ascension to leadership seriously. However, the first few hours of a seemingly successful takeover were dangerous for all involved. Starscream would be looking for anyone to challenge him now; to make an example. The best thing to do after a possibly successful coup was to nod at the preening, triumphant Air Commander and then wait for the chips to fall.

Silver colored chips. Big Treads. Large. Aggressive. _Tank_.

... _what is he thinking,_ was the shared sentiment of the rest of the Decepticon forces regarding the situation.

The Combaticons passed a confused-looking Optimus without acknowledgement. They were so used to seeing him around that he no longer caught their attention. Then, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Starscream made the announcement as soon as he had arrived: Megatron was dead, all hail Starscream!

Immediately thereafter Starscream walked over to Optimus, informed him personally that Megatron was dead, and then looked expectantly at what he assumed was his new slave. Optimus felt no change in the code, likely because he simply didn’t believe that Megatron was really dead. But he inclined his head at the capricious seeker and gave Starscream his due without the slightest hesitation.

“Decepticon Supreme Commander Starscream. Welcome home,” Optimus intoned solemnly, and dropped his helm in respect. The words cost him nothing and they meant the world to the preening jet.

Starscream hissed in delight and stepped closer. He grinned at Optimus and murmured into his audial, “Don’t worry Prime. I promise you things will be better. I am not half the fragger that scrap heap was.” And then he stepped back and away.

Optimus was not even remotely convinced that was true. He frowned even as Starscream strode away, yelling orders out at his new army to assemble in the throne room (everyone except Soundwave, who was to stay in the medbay and watch Hook) with his wings held high with victory.

Optimus entered the throne room quietly, staying to the back and listening as Starscream started his obviously well-rehearsed inaugural speech. He took a moment to locate Motormaster, the only mech who continued to show aggression towards him.

He was located near the front of the room, and Optimus stayed out of his sight. He was more than a match for the ‘King of the Road,’ especially now that he was well on the mend, but he wasn’t interested in useless aggression and even more useless scrapping. Stepping further into the room, he found himself standing behind the Combaticons, who politely ignored him. His long, sensitive audials came in handy as he listened in to their conversation and the quiet chatter all around him.

“We don’t even know if the boss is really dead yet,” Brawl complained - however quietly. “They just fell down the crevasse on the lowlands. It’s not even a lethal fall. We would have found him if we looked.”

“I know. He pulls this slag all the time,” Onslaught muttered back. He didn’t look impressed. “But shut up about it. If the boss is alive then he will return and take command back from Starscream. If not, well, we follow the new boss.”

“Why not just take control ourselves?” Swindle whispered.

Onslaught shook his head. “Two reasons,” he explained, holding out two fingers. “First, Starscream’s Armada is loyal to him and we don’t have anything to bribe them with that I would be willing to pay.”

Swindle nodded at that, as the economic concern was very valid. Vosian jets had _very_ expensive tastes, after all.

In the background from his throne, Starscream was hard at work verbally patting his own back at the loudest decibels possible. Standing at attention directly behind Stupendous Leader, Skywarp rolled his optics and simulated shooting himself in the head. All the mechs in the front row did everything in their power to keep their face plates straight.

“Second,” Onslaught continued, “Who the frag wants to herd this group of dumb glitches around? I am fine with squad leader. Starscream or Megatron can deal with the stupid slag that goes on around here. I am tired of it all.”

Brawl grunted in agreement. They were all a bunch of homicidal pit-spawned glitches, it was true.

“You know most of the tactics we use are a mix of mine, Megatron’s, and Starscream’s anyway,” Onslaught finished his argument. “Boss is a tactical genius and a fragging powerhouse for damned sure, but ‘Screamer’s strategies have been keeping us out of the Unicronian’s servos too. Mech’s a tactical genus too. I’ll take either one, here.”

“Starscream sounds so conceited. You’d think he would be more cautious by now,” Blast Off finally broke his silence, gracing his lesser (in his estimation) team members with his opinion. The shuttle snorted as the self-congratulatory speech went on and on. “How many times has ‘Screamer given this speech and the boss shows up hale and hearty a few days later?”

“Yep,” Swindle grinned, “and the betting pool is open, by the way.”

“Put me down for two days,” Onslaught said and slapped Swindle on his shoulder.

“One day.” Brawl grinned.

“Six hours." Blast Off blinked at all the cocked optic ridges, “Remember last time he left the boss for dead?” and then the Combaticons shared a grin. Oh yeah, they remembered. That particular punishment frag had been very public and _very_ loud.

…

Optimus Prime hurried out the entrance without the slightest bit of trouble as everyone was still listening to Starscream’s self-congratulating and oh-so-grandiose speech. The way Starscream thundered out the words, there was a good chance he practiced it every single day.

He had no interest what so ever in Decepticon politics.

He couldn’t care less what became of the Decepticons. His spark is pounding in his chest as he moved as quickly as possible. If he finds Megatron and he is dead, the code will go dormant and he will be freed.

 _Free at last,_ he thought, and he dared to bank some hope on it.

He transformed and rolled out towards the low lands, gunning his engine as hard as he could. He had the thermal blanket and a few cubes still stashed away in his subspace, and the coding pushed at him to hurry, to find and save his master. He coaxed as much speed out of his recovering engine as he could and the miles passed beneath his wheels.

This time when he reached the crevasse, it was large enough to let him through, and he dropped down below almost recklessly. It was a long, long fall but he grabbed at outcroppings to control his decent as best he could. Then he spent the next few joors in truck mode as daylight waned, searching along the bottom of it.

Finally he rumbled around a corner, and laid out flat on the ground was the mech he was looking for.

Optimus transformed and stood back, unsure, caught between hope and fear. Then hope floundered as he saw the black servo closest to him tighten into a fist, and then relax.

Lord Megatron was injured but very much alive. Optimus watched as his owner took in a deep breath and then fell quiet again.

Optimus approached him carefully, and took stock of the situation. Megatron had been leaking steadily, and a puddle of fluid had pooled beneath him. He had several stab wounds to his front, and innumerable small dents. He was in no condition for a fight of any kind, and could not stop his captive if he tried to leave.

Optimus hesitated, but the coding would not allow him to leave his master. Instead, he knelt down and put a hand on Megatron’s battered chest plates.

“Lord Megatron?”

…

Megatron heard a voice above him and his optics shot open. He lunged at the speaker, wrapping his powerful black servos around the neck of the mech hovering above him.

“Leader,” Megatron heard himself addressed as Prime hissed softly, clutching at the black servos holding his throat plating in a crushing grip. “You know I am incapable of harming you. Please release me.”

Megatron focused his optics blearily. Then he recognized the mech above him and relaxed his grip. “Where are the others?” he hissed, body slowly and painfully coming back online.

“Back at the base. Starscream ordered them to retreat from battle after he declared you dead.”

Megatron blinked for a moment, and then he laughed, long and loud and deep as understanding filtered through his aching processor. “Ah, well. That is to be expected. He will be dealt with.” It was something he was looking forward to, and Megatron grinned up at Prime, ignoring the trickle of internal fluid running down his chin. “And you are here. At least someone in my faction is useful.”

“Apparently. I came as quickly as I could,” Prime answered, and it was the truth, though not for the reasons Megatron might be thinking. He had dropped back into his dutiful slave persona as hope died within him, and his gaze was even and a little distant.

“I am sure you did,” Megatron answered, staring at him cannily. “You took something of a risk coming out here to see my supposed corpse and free yourself, didn’t you? Galvatron would love to have you back at his pedes. Unfortunately for Starscream, I am much harder to kill then that. Now, help me up.”

“I have no wish to see you dead,” Prime retorted, and from his fields Megatron could tell that was true. He most certainly wished to see himself free, but he did not actively wish death on anyone.

Megatron snorted as Prime reached out a servo and helped steady him as he rose to his pedes. _Imprudent Autobot sentimentality again,_ he thought. _You kill your enemies, or they will kill you. Or worse, apparently._

Fortunately Prime was no longer his enemy, and this proved it. That strange feeling he won’t name swelled stronger within him as he leaned against his berth mate and took a moment to ventilate and regain his balance.

…

The stood together in silence as Megatron’s systems cycled down to a calmer state.

Then Optimus reached out and pinched off a few of his captor’s dripping fuel tubing and worked to get the leaking under control. Megatron stood still and watched until Optimus had done all he could for him, and stepped back.

It was enough, and Megatron took a step forward, already steadier on his pedes.

“Night is almost here,” Optimus warned him quietly. “We won’t make it back in time and we need to find some sort of shelter.”

They were too far out and would be spending the night in the wilds. Optimus tried not to think of the supplies hidden in his subspace. If he offered them, Megatron would want to know how he got them, and that could lead to bad things.

“Indeed. I won’t be of much use to you, unfortunately,” Megatron admitted and he _was_ exhausted, because admitting weaknes was something he would normally never do. “I am completely drained of energy. It will take most of the night before my systems can convert enough to be useful.”

Optimus looked over at Megatron. He certainly looked depleted; his plating was dim and his optics barely glowed. “I don’t understand how you survived,” Optimus said whilst suffering from déjà vu. “Galvatron should have killed you, or worse, enslaved you as soon as you fell.”

“He was in no condition to enslave anyone,” and Megatron laughed, a dark and self-satisfied sound. “Neither was Cyclonus. That wretch barely dragged Galvatron's shell away after I soundly trashed him.”

It had been a close thing, though.

Megatron’s death blow had landed on Galvatron right as Cyclonus had arrived. Furious, he engaged Megatron in defense of his lord. That was a far harsher fight, as Megatron’s power levels were plummeting from the exertion of his battle with Galvatron. He had refused to fall and his unfailing confidence shook the other warrior.

But the energy flowing to his limbs had begun to fail, and so Megatron had fallen back on his treachery to save his life.

He had stepped back and mocked his enemy, re-engaged and threw Cyclonus back, and had spat threat after threat, every line of his body a tribute to malice, even after his fuel lines went all but dry. The aggressive display intimidated the other warrior, and finally with a hiss of fury, Cyclonus had disengaged and flew away with Galvatron's body. Had he put just a few minutes more effort into his attack, he would have overcome Megatron.

Presumably he hadn't wanted to risk Galvatron’s body falling into Decepticon hands, and thanks to his bluffing Megatron had looked far stronger then he really was. Megatron remembered what Optimus had told him about having torn Galvatron’s head off, and didn’t think for one moment that his adversary was truly gone for good.

Optimus went for a short walk and located a side passage they could huddle into for the night. He felt a tinge of remorse, remembering the first few nights with his Autobots.

The short time spent surviving the nights underground with his mechs had taught Optimus to fear the freezing dark on this world. Several times he and his Autobots had awoken next to cold graying frames, as the desperately frigid temperatures had mercilessly stolen the injured and weak from them. Banishing those sad thoughts, he guided Megatron to the passage and started digging a hole down into the silt.

“What is that for?” Megatron asked. “I am not that far gone, Prime.” He said it teasingly and there was no threat behind the words. He'd come to feel at ease around his once mortal enemy now that he had complete control.

“For us to recharge in," Optimus answered, "Something my Autobots figured out early on. The ground isn’t as cold as the air above, at least at first. As long as there are two of us, it will help retain heat instead of leech it away.”

“Mhn. Good to know. You will be taking the bottom, though.” Megatron grinned at him playfully, then turned his head and coughed, spitting up a bit of internal fluid.

“Thank you. It’s the most comfortable position. I appreciate that.” Optimus' reply was only mildly sarcastic, because it was true. The mech on top got to enjoy his back plating being exposed to the freezing night air with its razor winds.

Megatron considered that, but shook his head. He didn’t want to be pinned down. _He_ would be the one doing any pinning, between the two of them. He looked up the walls of the crevasse, and could tell that the weak sun was setting.

Darkness was falling.

They settled down for the night, with Prime buried in the dark ground on his back. Megatron lay firmly on top of him,  facing down while his back plating remained level with and exposed to the frozen ground.

The crevasse walls helped keep the lethal wind chill from claiming them, and as Optimus predicted, the hole they were both sunken into helped retain a little of their escaped frame heat. They breathed each other’s warm ex-vents as cloudy puffs of vapor and tried to get as close together and as comfortable as possible. It was difficult, but both of them were old soldiers and neither complained; both had suffered far worse over the course of their long lives.

Optimus was just about to drift off into a light, miserable recharge when he felt Megatron shift above him in deep discomfort. And then shift again. “Did you want to switch places?" He asked quietly. “You are injured.”

“So are you,” Megatron grunted and did not move.

“I am on the mend, though.” Megatron ignored him and Optimus hesitated, and then reached up gently with his fingers.

Megatron was watched him with mostly shuttered optics when suddenly his captive smiled at him and pushed very lightly against his mouth  with two fingers. It was the smallest of jokes, a reversal of roles, but Megatron did grunt in a quiet laugh.

Optimus was startled when Megatron’s mouth caught his fingers and he kissed them, and then Megatron drifted off into a fitful sleep.

…

Megatron woke up early the next morning as usual. He shook his captive awake and they climbed out of their makeshift shelter and started walking down the crevasse towards the base. Their pede steps echoed up the dismal, dark crevasse walls. The weak morning light only barely reached the bottom of the crack.

“Can you fly?” Optimus asked him, looking upwards at the upper edges of the crack, far above them.

“I could, but not while carrying you,” Megatron said.

“Leave me then. I can make my way back to base myself.” ... _Unless I get lost,_ Optimus thought while daring to glance over at Megatron with a barely-hidden expression of hope.

He'd been exploring the coding tinging in the back of his mind. He was already feeling his way around the code, testing its limits. As long as he kept noisily thinking he was going to return to his master, the code didn’t seem to be able to dig much deeper than surface thoughts. _I can work with that,_ he realized. It lifted his mood a bit.

But Megatron didn't answer, and instead started walking, gesturing Prime to keep up. They walked in silence for a time, and then suddenly Megatron put a hand up.

“Prime. Look.” Megatron gestured at a side passage and something in his vocalizer brought Optimus up short. He followed the gesture and sure enough, there was writing carved on the dark wall. Peering at the faint words, he was surprised Megatron had even seen it in the low light.

It was Cybertronian, a neat sprawl of words carved with a precision instrument, and he instantly recognized it as Ratchet’s handwriting. He must have used his internally mounted laser scalpel as a writing implement. There were only two words.

_‘All Dead.’_

His spark dropped in its chamber in grief as the words and their meaning sank in to him. He had already known the truth in his spark as his Autobots had been on their last legs when he was taken; ground down between the planet’s dreadful nights without shelter and Galvatron’s constant merciless attacks. But the confirmation was a dreadful blow.

 _I have lost them all,_ he realized. All of them but one. Ratchet was still alive, at least as of the time he wrote out this warning, obviously meant for his leader if he escaped the Decepticons. _I have to find him,_ he worried, desperation chewing at him. _He is completely alone. He won’t survive, not for long. It is amazing he has lasted this long._

Megatron watched him for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “There are numbers listed below, Prime. It appears to be the same handwriting. Who wrote this, and what do the numbers mean?”

Optimus had to answer, but he didn’t have to be exact. The coding wasn’t that sophisticated.

“Ratchet wrote this,” Optimus said immediately, “and I don’t know what the numbers mean.” That was the truth, because he hadn’t looked at the numbers yet. He glanced down and memorized them to puzzle over later. They were definitely coordinates, but Ratchet had encoded them. It would take Prime a little while to work out the real location the medic intended his leader to find him at.

“Hmm.” Megatron clapped him on his shoulder, intending to be supportive and yet failing with his next words. “I will send the armada out to search this area, Prime. If your medic is still here, we will find him. He is badly needed, and will find his place among us, as you have.”

Optimus stared at him for a moment and then dropped his helm. Slavery was no way to live life. He had no idea if Ratchet would be treated well or if he was better off facing the merciless weather then the equally merciless Decepticons.

“Come, Prime. It is time to return home.”

The weak sunlight was dawning, and the bitter cold had lessened to a grinding chill as they headed back to base; a powerful rumbling tank with a deeply depressed Peterbilt truck following close behind.

Once they reached the base, both mechs transformed. Megatron turned to his berth mate and ordered him to the safety of his quarters. Optimus nodded and obediently left, spark still churning and roiling with grief.

…

Megatron strode towards the throne room with purpose, and the Decepticons around him burst into cheerful grins and delighted salutes as they saw him pass. Several of them busted aft down to the mess hall to let the others know Megs was back, and a frantic mass of excited mechanicals burst out of the large communal area and down towards the throne room.

Nobody wanted to miss this.

Megatron was still leaking from his intakes, still wounded, but Starscream would still be no match for him. He never was, not in a direct fight. Staying out of sight for a few moments, he searched for and then found Starscream inside, currently facing away from the throne room door and bragging to his trine about his ascension.

Megatron entered, put his servos on his hips for a moment, and then started moving around to come up behind Starscream, as of yet unnoticed. Stalking silently towards the three of them, he gave a warning to Thundercracker and Skywarp not to move. The trine mates barely glanced at each other and then Thundercracker frowned a little and Skywarp smirked a little, and Starscream continued to prattle on, entirely unaware his short tenure as leader had already come to an end.

Megatron took position right behind Starscream, legs in a confident and wide stance, and he clinched his fists and loomed over the heedless Starscream, listening as his braggart of a jet merrily ran his vocalizer.

“-Never had the proper respect for me. Now that I am the rightful leader of the Decepticons, there will be some changes… around….here…” Starscream finally noticed the subtle looks on his trine’s faces and all the other Decepticons that were frantically entering the side entrance to the throne room, gingerly holding out cubes of morning energon to avoid spilling them while hurrying to not miss the show.

And then Starscream sighed, “He’s standing _right behind me_ , isn’t he?”

Thundercracker cocked his helm. Skywarp just nodded. It was a faint movement and very, very slow.

Megatron’s dramatic entrance had the intended effect, as did the furious punishment frag that followed.

…

_Well then._

Lying flat on his back on the floor of his quarters, Starscream flicked his sore wings and then winced for the pain. _That was fun._

He was still resting where his trine had left him after Megatron was finished with him. They'd flicked their wings at him after setting him down with only the barest hint of sympathy, while Thundercracker reminded him _yet again_ the importance of not assuming anyone was really dead until you had a body. They were still miffed at him for refusing to share a room with them, so they were not as supportive has they could have been.

_Too bad._

Starscream frowned. He couldn't afford to recharge with them, or share a berth or a shower. There was something they were bound to notice if they spent too much time with him. Skywarp and Thundercracker weren't happy about the uncharacteristic rejection. They didn’t even bring him his rations for the night. Instead, they'd just filed out of the room at his order.

Another day, another failed takeover. Or whatever this had been.

He'd known in his spark that Megatron wasn’t dead, but an entire evening spent as Supreme Leader was worth the beating. Fortunately Megatron was still banged up from Galvatron’s attack or it would have been far worse.

Starscream coughed, and spat out a bit of internal fluid that had gathered in his intakes while the fluttering in his abdominals continued on without pause.

 _You better be strong,_ he warned, looking down at his abdominals. _This life is not for the weak. I will not be slowing down for you, so you better keep up if you want to live._

The fluttering continued, unconcerned. It felt stronger than the first, so that was something.

The door to his quarters cracked open a bit, and he blinked as a large blue and red truck-former stood there, hesitant but concerned.

“Are you alright?” Prime asked him, quietly.

Prime was walking back to Megatron’s quarters after his late afternoon walk, and had stopped to check on the sorry jet. Prime wasn’t sure why he cared, or even if he should. They were Decepticons and Starscream had foolishly brought this on himself by leaving his own leader for dead. But it was hard sometimes to turn off that part of him that cared about everyone, even the ones that might not deserve it.

“Heh,” Starscream said, from his place sprawled out on the floor. “Never better.”

The enslaved Autobot nodded at him, and then set down two energon cubes, the night’s ration, down on a small table for him and quietly left. Starscream watched him go without a word.

 _Better luck next time,_ Starscream promised himself.

 

* * *

 

Prime was clearly grieving for his lost mechs and Megatron did whatever he could to distract his berth mate from his dark thoughts, which he blamed for what was driving Prime deeper into his own mind.

 _He_ certainly wasn’t responsible, and the thought never crossed his mind.

To someone with control issues, to have such complete control over an attractive rival was intoxicating, and not once did he stop to consider that his constant unwanted contact with Prime might be having such an effect. As far as he was concerned, his touches were very gentle - as gentle as he knew how to be - and Prime needed him. Needed his body, needed his satisfaction... needed his protection to stay functional.

Megatron found himself in a perpetually cheerful mood while he healed. He had his berth mate to pester nonstop, and enjoyed the extra few days of rest he took for himself. He spent the time split between recharging and playing with Prime.

Prime remained completely subservient to his every whim, even going so far as to show proper gratitude when provided something when prompted. Megatron explored and touched the other frequently, locating where his sweet spots on his outer plating were. He was paying far closer attention to what his berth mate enjoyed and was using it against him whenever possible.

Those long blue audials were the most sensitive, which Megatron had already known. But there were several other spots that brought Prime pleasure, and he was teasing out which ones were the most effective, using Prime’s EM fields as indicators of how well he was doing. Prime continued to keep his field tight against his plating, so Megatron left his extended and kept the other mech close to him to stay connected to his moods.

Megatron was most amused to switch places with Prime that first morning, and ordered Prime to hand feed him. Prime looked embarrassed, but obediently took mouthfuls of energon and provided them to his leader with his mouth as ordered.  Laying on his back on the berth, Megatron accepted each mouthful with his engine thrumming in low arousal. He swallowed the energon from the providing intakes and suckled on the glossa, tracing the other’s mouth, licking the oral plating clean.

“You are hardly so injured,” Prime frowned down at him, and then took another mouthful and offered it to his captor. He was unable to keep the slow growing arousal out of his fields as the sweet taste of energon and Megatron’s oral fluids combined with the soft stimulation of his oral plating warmed his engine in spite of his feelings on the matter.

“That is entirely not the point.” Megatron laughed at him. “I am trying to figure out what is so horrible about being hand fed, and so far I am failing. You certainly aren’t so distressed right now.”

Another mouthful offered and then taken, the oral intake further plundered in firm, exploratory kisses.

“You still have full control.” Prime gasped out when finally released, and he tried and failed to keep his tone even and ungrudging. He took another mouthful, and tilted his head in offering.

“Yes, Prime, I know. _I am_ in full control here.” Megatron opened his intakes, and pulled Prime in for another kiss.

After the energon was gone, he pulled the other mech over top of him and was very pleased when the arousal pulsing around his captive was far stronger than any other emotion. The following interface - free from pain or medication now that Prime was mostly healed - was the first time he heard Prime cry out for his Creator.

…

The data pad Megatron had mentioned some time ago was finally handed over as promised that next morning, and with a playful tweak to a sensitive audial, Megatron wandered off to take a shower.

Optimus stared at it for a long moment, and then tapped it open. He saw a long list-file already completed, with an open entry for his own additions. It was locked, so he would have to fill in his own entries before he could open Megatron’s.

Optimus closed his optics, and then opened them and began to write. He had decided to only put the bare minimum required as his own desires certainly held no weight in this room, and they involved an intimacy that he didn’t actually want from Megatron.

These things were deeply sequestered, normally never shared with others.

The regal, silver mech he had once entertained in his private dreams didn’t actually exist, and he'd always known that. It helped that he could consider that silver being a different person entirely, so a huge subset of his more violent dreams and fantasies could be sidestepped completely without the slave code even noticing.

The less he shared of himself willingly, the better he felt when taken by force.

He was being touched and taken by force constantly, and it was grinding him down. He hid himself as far into his own mind as he could, and he was worried that the slave persona might be all that was left of him once his spirit was completely crushed by the wants and desires of his owner. He didn’t know if he could even return to the earlier thrashing and struggling and aggression he had first shown Megatron when he was initially captured. The pain of correction was much stronger now and more effective as days spent mostly comfortable dulled the memory of his suffering at Galvatron's hands.

The slave coding was sunk deep into his mind now, always present, always whispering.

The confusing gentleness that Megatron continued to show him, over and over, day after day, also ground down some of his deep fear. That constant feeling of an ominous cloud hovering over him... the fear of impending pain had lifted a bit. He wasn’t hopeful, but he had stopped flinching and feeling like the next moment might be the one when the horror would begin.

Fortunately for him the coding was very lenient regarding the order Megatron had given him regarding his dreams and fantasies. When it sent warning tinges of pain into his mind to force him to write, he just carefully thought through his reasoning.

 _Megatron likes domination games and humiliation._ None of his fantasies or dreams had ever approached what Megatron would appreciate. _Making a list Megatron would not enjoy would not please him,_ Optimus argued with the code, and it actually backed off at that. Making his owner happy was the only thing the code was designed to care about.

Optimus ended up adding only four entries, all of them domination oriented, but far, far milder than anything he had already experienced with Megatron so far. Gentle, pushed up against a wall and kissed into submission, a few affectionate words and a spark felt connection, on a chair, a table, on a berth.

After saving them with a wince, Optimus' fingers hesitated over the blinking datapad. Now he could open Megatron’s list.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the Slagmaker had planned for him. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. He was almost certain that ignorance was bliss in this case. Hearing Megatron moving around in the shower, he realized he didn't have much time left. Finally he opened the file and started reading the entries, of which there were many.

And his spark promptly sank down in its chamber and his fuel tank began to roil dangerously.

…

Megatron walked out of the shower, pleased with himself. He was planning on having them play out whichever first entry Prime had written down immediately. He expected it would be very mild, and he was fine with that. He expected pages and pages of silly Autobot fluff really, and they were going to do every entry as promised. He was actually looking forward to it. By the time they got through the “vanilla” as Starscream had called it, Prime should be relaxed enough with him that his entries should be far less intimidating.

They had already made good progress as far as he could tell. Much of the wincing had stopped, though the distant expression on Prime’s face plates seem to linger longer and longer as the cycles passed.

His own list for Prime was very much edited now, as he had removed everything that might be uncomfortably rough or excessively alarming and dumped it into a side file under the tag “Starscream”. Prime would not actually be seeing nor experiencing that list.

Then, in a fit of whimsy, he sent that rejected file over to Starscream, asking him if Prime would consider any of the activities listed as…'inappropriate'. The distant sound of roaring laughter from through the wall had been a most adequate reply.

Appearances must be kept.

But Megatron could tell his captive was upset the instant he left the wash rack. He could sense it from the tight way Prime was sitting; his back strut held taunt and plating flared in alarm.

Megatron strode towards him with a small smile. “Finished already?”

“Yes.” Prime said as he stood up. He took two steps to the wall, and leaned against it.

“Well, let’s have a look then.”

 _He must have had some very interesting fantasies about me_ _to be so distraught_ _,_ and Megatron chuckled to himself. The thought was most amusing to him, not that he would be forcing Prime to do anything painful or vile ... even if it was his entries. There was no controlling dreams after all. This would be a unique chance to see what Prime actually wanted from him.

He looked over his captive playfully, amusement coiling ever tighter when Prime wouldn’t meet his optics. Then he glanced down at the entries. Completely vanilla, as expected. But only four? Megatron was honestly surprised.

“This is all, then? Really?”

Prime inclined his helm in response, but still wouldn't meet his eyes.

“Ah well. You are the more inhibited of the two of us," Megatron allowed. "I suppose that just means we get to mine sooner. You are certain this is all you can remember?”

Prime closed his optics tightly and inclined his helm again.

“All right then. Mmm. A berth, a chair, a table, and a wall. So very … risqué.” His optics flitted back to Prime, bright with good-humor. Vanilla indeed. Even so, his lower abdominals grew tight with lust and his spike was already beginning to pressurize within its sheath for the coming play.

 _Fair enough,_ he thought, as he was still going to enjoy this.

“Did you have a preference for today?” Megatron asked, cheerfully.

Prime opened his mouth to speak, choked, and dropped to his knees. Another choking gasp and he purged his entire fuel tank in several violent spasms. Then he curled into a shaking ball and began to dry heave.

Megatron watched him with quirked lips, completely confused. He looked down at the entries again, the four of them now saved to the front his own list. Clearly he was missing something. Nothing that Prime had written could even come close to provoking this kind of reaction … hell, their play just last night was more adventurous then anything listed here.

Then he glanced at the first of _his_ entries.

_Oh._

He must have pulled up the wrong file by mistake. He'd been working on several - moving entries around and deleting and editing. His soldiers had sent him an absolutely vile list of suggestions as a joke, most of them involving creative sexual tortures, a few of them ending in gruesome death. He'd laughed himself sick at some of the suggestions and then filed it away, never to be used.

Guess which file he had handed to Prime.

Even worse, handed over with the serious assurance that he intended to follow through with them all, even. Some of the tortures listed were truly unspeakable. No wonder Prime purged. Even if he passed this off as a joke played on his captive, it would be in such poor taste as to be pathetically mean-spirited.

Megatron repressed the urge to face-palm. For spark’s sake! Now he had to explain and… apologize _. Bah!_

In the meantime, Prime was already regaining control of himself, wiping at his mouth with a distant expression. Taking a few steps towards him, Megatron offered him a hand up.

“I apologize, Prime. This is not the list I intended to provide you. This was sent to me as a jest by my soldiers, the day after we picked you up.” But Megatron could tell that Prime was not interested in his explanation. Prime's gaze remained distant, as if he was absent and lost deep into his own mind. He did not seem to notice the hand extended towards him in an act of contrition.

Megatron sighed.

“Come here,” he commanded. “Right now.”

Prime got to his feet with great reluctance. After a moment's hesitation he was forced by the coding to approach and stood next to Megatron. His even expression did not reflect the sick pulsing of his EM field, tucked so very tightly to his frame as he tried to stay as far from Megatron as possible.

Megatron reached out and pulled him closer, wincing for the feel of Prime's electromagnetic fields. His captive was utterly horrified. That brightly colored armature was clenched tightly for fear and Megatron was dismayed to realize how utterly he'd ruined the morning with this blunder. There was no way he would be coaxing any sort of positive emotion from his captive's frame now.

Frowning intently, Megatron pointed at some of the entries. “Look at the vocabulary. Look at the syntax. Look at the differences between each entry. This is clearly not my writing. It was a joke sent to me by my soldiers, Prime, and obviously in poor taste, that was the point. I have no plans to do any of this to you.”

Prime closed his optics, opened them, and took a small step back. “I see.”

“No Prime, I really don’t think you do.” He could tell as Prime's fields still pulsed with sick horror, without a single twinge of trust or relief.

“I apologize for the mess, Leader. I will clear this away,” Prime said. He still sounded calm as started towards the wash rack to get a rag, but his hands were still shaking, ever so slightly. In truth, he was desperate for any excuse to get away from the other mech.

“No. Leave it,” Megatron ordered. “I will deal with it. After all, it is my fault, isn’t it?”

He watched Prime freeze in place, back plates facing him, fingers twitching helplessly.

Words could be so meaningless he knew, and sometimes one had to prove them before they held any true weight. He reached out and pulled the reluctant Prime around, then pushed him flush against the wall. He felt the other frame stiffen in distress and captive fingers curled into fists that couldn’t even be used for defense. He felt Prime try to tuck his fields in even tighter, as if that were possible.

He covered Prime with his frame, pressing into him firmly and let his own field pulse over Prime. He focused on his own regret for the situation, and his remorse for the fear he had induced in his terrified berth mate. He knew his field would reflect his honest feelings on the matter.

“I mean it, Prime," he murmured into a blue audial. "Forget the list. We will just take this day by day. I meant it when I said I did not intend to harm you.”

They stayed that way until Prime had calmed down, hesitantly soothed by the honest reassurances shared through their fields, until Megatron was satisfied he'd proven his good intentions.

Megatron finally let him up, and gave him his space. After a while though, when Prime remained calm, he decided that the day might not be fully lost and began to push at his captive again. Approaching carefully, he began coaxing more interaction.

He really wasn’t any good at this patience thing.

Prime ended up being taken in a chair, heavy black servos wrapped around his hip struts and his legs wrapped around Megatron’s waist. Under duress, Prime did eventually enjoy the heavy body working him over. Megatron had been paying attention to his captive’s body and reactions, and was learning how best to entice arousal from his frame.

Megatron would have been far less satisfied with the day’s outcome if he could have felt his captive’s frightened and angry mind, his thoughts grinding resentfully while hiding behind a faked persona of quiet subservience.


	16. Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream gives an unfortunate order, and runs afoul of Galvatron. Megatron is left most upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-con sticky sex, description of sexual torture, graphic rape of a carrying mech, triggery content.
> 
> Thanks again for the comments, I love to hear from you guys!

The morning had started as normal. They had been mid-interface when Megatron thrust in too hard. The base of his spike and array slammed Prime’s spike buried in its sheath, already crowded from the substantial invasion of his valve.

Prime’s forehelm was nearly touching the floor as he knelt on his knees, optics distant and unfocused. His trembling thighs were splayed wide and angled for the deepest penetration by the warbuild enthusiastically taking him from behind. It was an invasion that, for the extensive care and foreplay given him, Prime couldn’t help but enjoy. Then the hit came. Prime hadn’t brought any attention to it. He swallowed back a soft hiss, barely audible under the soft cries of pleasure being coaxed from his otherwise quiet vocalizer.

Megatron, already seated deep within him, was sensitive to his companion’s sounds. Easing off, he leaned forward and mouthed a kiss into the back of Prime’s neck. His intakes were warm and his ex-vent felt hot against Prime's neck cables.

Then Megatron surged back, his attention otherwise relentless.

Megatron dipped his fingers in between white plating and rubbed that wire, that one between Prime’s hip and thigh plating that sent fierce tingles up his sensor net, all the while controlling the white hip strut with a large black servo. The feel of Prime was exquisite, and Megatron could feel that Prime was also reeling from every flare of pleasure as he moved within him.

Blue servos scrabbled for a hold on the smooth floor, fingers clenching and unclenching as the captive frame moved rhythmically under Megatron's powerful thrusts.

Prime’s intakes sucked in cooler air as his hip struts trembled under the assault, moving of their own accord for the furious sensations surging from the plunging heat between his legs, and the servos dancing across his over-heated frame. His dim plating flared as soft gasps of pleasure were coaxed from him by Megatron’s skillful, rolling movements, the charge sparking between them. His valve clenched down on the pleasuring spike, calipers roiling, as the warbuild at his back cycled him steadily and inexorably towards overload.

Megatron murmured encouragement into Prime's audial as he worked over Prime’s tight, wet valve just the way Prime’s EM field assured he loved it, grinding against the deepest, most sensitive nodes. Drawing out the other mech's building charge, he nipped Prime's neck cables while heating the captive array with an unrelenting, lancing pleasure. Their fluids mingled and dripped to the floor as Prime’s fields shot through with pleasure, his engine running hot, slowly building to match Megatron’s own feverish lust.

Megatron kept a strong rhythm, working his spike ridges over the nodes, relentlessly building the charge, murmuring approval when Prime ground back against him, Prime's valve clenching with need. Megatron rumbled into Prime's neck cables as he released the sensitive wire and reached around to Prime’s front. His servo ghosted over Prime's abdominals, and he could feel the tension steadily building within his captive's valve, his own tightening hotly across his belly. Nimble fingers slipped down to the quivering rim of Prime's valve, stretched wide and rippling around his connector.

Megatron traced the rim clenched around his thrusting spike and then slick fingers slid over the sensitive anterior node. He rubbed it feverishly as Prime gasped, valve clenching even tighter for the arch of charge between his stroking fingers, Prime thrashed at the touch. It was too much and he lost all control. He couldn’t stifle his cries any longer, his voice growing loud.

Megatron's engine rumbled in answer. His plating was burning hot and flared in exhilaration. His spike crackling with charge and aching for release, but he still managed to keep control. He closed his optics as the charged peaked, but he was unrelenting in his efforts, forcing the shaking frame close and pulling him back into the plunging spike, keeping him at the edge of overload.

Then Prime shuddered beneath him, releasing his charge with a wild cry. Only then did Megatron let himself follow, arching his back strut with a roar and emptying out in hot pulses in a long and mutual release. The moment went long, intense, glorious.

Prime panted and his legs collapsed out from under him, their combined fluids trickling down his thighs and to the floor as Megatron’s hot plating laid heavy atop him. They remained joined for a long moment, in-venting and cooling their systems, while Megatron rested his helm against the other.

While coming down from the high of their joining, Megatron reached down and ran a servo through their mingled fluids below. He slicked his fingers and smeared a glyph onto his captive’s back plating; ancient Cybertronian in origin and perfectly inscribed. Megatron knew that Prime didn’t notice, too busy in-venting and cooling his heaving systems and that was fine. He wasn’t any good at such sentiments, but the surge of emotion he felt for the other being desired a physical form, and he pressed his lip plating against the overheated back plates of the other, exultant.

When the last of the delightful after-tingles in his spike eased, Megatron withdrew. Prime pushed himself back up onto his knees and hesitated as a possessive servo slipped down along his belly and stroked lower, reaching to cup his still trembling valve. Heedless of the mess, the dark fingers affectionately massaged his valve through the little shivers, a thumb tracing a long stroke down the slit.

Hesitant, Prime relaxed just a little from the soothing touches.

 Heavy armor plating smoothing to his protoform, Megatron finally released Prime, smiling faintly as Prime quickly closed up his panels. So sensitive. Then Megatron reached down and wrapped a servo around his companion’s arm. He frowned as he felt Prime’s fields slowly sink back into the depressive state as the last of the body bliss faded. Pulling Prime to his pedes, he began walking them toward the shower to rinse off their frames.

“I would like some time in the basin, please,” Prime said, gently pulling back and away.

“Very well,” Megatron replied and reluctantly allowed the other his distance. Stepping into the shower, he quickly rinsed his frame and left the wash rack as Prime crept past to clean himself.

Megatron was doing whatever he could to keep things calm between them after his massive blunder a few days ago, and so far the intense fear he had tasted in the fields of his companion had not returned.

Prime spoke little to him now (beyond a persistent request for freedom when annoyed, a request that he would never grant) answering only when forced and often with only one word or two. He was staying very quiet, and Megatron was willing to be indulgent in a show of kindness to his companion.

He watched out of the corner of his optic as Prime edged around him and into the shower. Still so cautious, even after such intimacy ... surely by now Prime could see he intended no harm? Shaking his helm, he walked over to the table to dispose of the empty cubes and prepare to leave.

He was already planning his day when he heard a shuffling thump from the wash rack.

**...**

The wash room floor was slick and Optimus accidentally slid a bit.

Knocking his pede against the wall with a clang, Optimus caught himself by throwing out a hand and slapping the wall with his palm. He steadied himself and hadn’t even reached the basin when he heard heavy pedes checking after him.

“Lord Megatron,” and Optimus' tone was as mild as he could make it, “might I take a shower in peace?”

Megatron opened his mouth to say something, abruptly stopped, and then raised his hands in amused surrender. “Very well. Just… making sure you hadn’t fallen. You seem unbalanced this morning.” Then he strode away, heavy pedes receding.

Optimus ex-vented a sigh of relief as he left. He walked slowly over to the basin and stood in it and turned the hot fluid on. He glanced warily at the open door, but it was clear. Hopefully by the time he was out of the shower Megatron would be gone for the rest of the day to his duties.

He retracted his interface panel and looked down to see internal fluid was now steadily dripping out of his spike sheath where Megatron had jarred him, and Optimus wanted to tend to himself without interference from his captor. His valve was mostly mended, but the injuries to his spike healed far more slowly due to the nature of the burns.

Fortunately, Megatron was far, far more enamored with his valve, and left his spike to heal in peace. The few times Megatron had reached in to stroke the tip - buried as deeply as possible in its sheath - his captive’s winces of pain had convinced him to cease any efforts to play with it.

Optimus wanted it to stay that way. When he had been a free mech, he too had preferred his spike just as much as Megatron did his. _Thankfully he is leaving it alone, along with my spark._ He rubbed a hand over his face with a touch of uneasy relief. _At least that has been one mercy in my captivity with the Decepticons._

Unlike the Unicronians, some things were still inviolate among the children of Primus, generally true for both factions; while he was a captive Megatron had never threatened nor touched his inner being; his spark in its chamber.

 _That might change,_ and it was a thought that worried Optimus greatly. Several of the entries he had seen on Megatron’s list had involved spark rape. It was the vilest of violations. The other entry that stuck out in his mind was the one detailing how to skin the plating off of a spike with a laser scalpel while still leaving it intact enough for use immediately after.

The thought made his plating crawl with horror.

He found himself sick with worry as hot fluid poured down on him. It was hard and getting harder to stick to his less-then-ideal-plan to pretend to be a mentally broken slave. He had to force himself not to argue with Megatron, to keep up this façade of accepting silence. He wanted to yell at Megatron to give him his space. He wanted to shout at Megatron to back off with the constant interfacing.

He was sick of the domination games.

But he knew in his spark that asserting himself verbally would not only fail to help him, it would make things worse; make him a more interesting toy to play with. He was certain that showing Megatron any resistance at all, even merely verbal - which was all he could do now - would only backfire on him while he was in this helpless state. Complaining certainly wouldn’t stop the forced interfacing, though so far his captivity had been far less painful then he would have expected. He knew what worse felt like.

Galvatron had demonstrated to excess how bad things could be for him.

Optimus leaned his helm against the wall as he quickly rinsed his array of the evidence of their interfacing. The writing on his back disappeared under the spray, entirely unnoticed. He would not have believed the deep sentiment it embodied even if he had seen it.

Optimus shook his head to clear his thoughts, filled the basin, and sank himself into the hot fluid with a sigh. He sent another nervous glance at the door, currently locked open, though it remained empty. He positioned his back to it to shield his bare components, and then propped a pede on the edge of the basin and lifted his array out of the fluid. He stared down at it and steeled himself.

_This... is going to hurt._

And it did hurt.

He gritted his denta and carefully worked his spike from its sheath. It was completely unpressurized and the pain was stabbing along his sensor net now that he was handling it. The plating looked far better than before but Primus it still hurt. He'd worked it half way out of the sheath, trying to see where the leaking was coming from, when he heard Megatron call out to him.

“Prime. Why is there fluid on the floor?”

Optimus could tell Megatron was standing in the middle of the main room, both from the direction and from the distant sound of his booming voice. He felt a flash of concern over the question.

So far Megatron had never stooped so low as to force him to clean up anything too vile with his glossa, leak waste fluid on him, force merge his spark, attack him sexually with objects or brutalize his intakes or interface ports in any sort of truly painful or cruel maltreatment, but it remained a fear of his.

Galvatron had done all of the brutalizing already, the entire wretched list, and Optimus winced and pushed those memories away. The only thing the hateful mech hadn’t done was actually use his own interface ports on his slave due to some mental issue… instead forcing that onus upon Cyclonus while his Lord watched.

Megatron had been the exact opposite, so far. No real painful brutality, but the aggressive warbuild had no issues what-so-ever with Optimus in any sexual way, enjoying all forms of physical contact with him. The only thing Megatron had left in peace (beyond his precious spark) was his spike, but only due to injury.

“I would assume, Leader, because we interfaced,” he called out mildly, frozen nervously in place with his stinging spike held gingerly between two fingers, barely halfway out of its sheath.

“Internal fluid,” Megatron corrected with a sudden harshness to his tone. “Are you injured?”

_Damn._

Yes, he was. The answer to that question was yes, and the coding would make him answer it in the affirmative. That would bring Megatron in here to look him over and that was something he didn’t want. But he had to answer.

“Barely. Nothing of concern,” and Optimus hedged as best he could while being truthful as required by the coding.

He heard Megatron rumble unhappily. “Did I injure you?”

 _Primus damn._ The answer to that was also yes. “You… didn’t intend to. It is nothing.”

Optimus heard Megatron make that thoughtful noise he so often did, and then nothing. He waited for a long moment, but nothing happened. It seemed Megatron had accepted his placating answer. He slowly relaxed, and nervously returned to inspecting himself.

His beleaguered spike was trying its damnedest to retract back into its sheath. He was healed to the point of no longer needing medication, and normally as long as he didn’t move his spike when it was sheathed, the pain cycled down to almost nothing. Manipulating it hurt. So did any jarring injuries from overly enthusiastic warlords.

He handled it gingerly as he inspected it. The miserable burn covered his entire spike and sheath, and there was really no way to hold it that was comfortable. He couldn’t see the source of the leaking; apparently it was deeper. He started inching his spike out a little further, flinching at the scrape of burned metal over more burned metal. The trickle of internal fluid continued to leak out steadily with no signs of slowing, so he really did need to check it.

“You are leaking.”

Optimus nearly leapt out of his plating and then fell back into the hot fluid and yelped as it swirled over his burned plating. He let go of himself by accident and his spike vanished back into its sheath an instant later, raking itself over his burned sheath plating. He shuttered his optics while making a very unhappy noise.

Megatron, standing quietly behind him, made that noise again.

“That… looked unpleasant.”

 _How does he move so silently?_ Optimus grimaced to himself, discomfort combining with irritation at the unwanted disruption. He hid his array beneath his hand. He didn't like being so exposed, not if he could help it. _Go away,_ he thought, frustrated.

Megatron frowned down at him. “You are leaking because I bumped you earlier, correct?”

“Yes,” Optimus answered reluctantly. “But it is nothing. I can take care of it myself.” A little note of desperation escaped into his vocalizer as he spoke. He clamped back down on himself, keeping any sort of emotion out of his tone. _Do nothing to encourage him,_ he reminded himself. It was the only way he could protect himself and his only hope for freedom. He would never escape if he was more aggressively controlled by his owner.

Megatron glanced over Optimus' bare array for a moment. The soft components were partially concealed in the hot fluid of the basin, and his companion’s nervous palm. It sent a twinge of amusement and annoyance through him, seeing Prime try to hide his bare components. He had been fully engaged with that array not even a breem ago, first his mouth, then his fingers, then his spike, and it was still a little engorged from his fervent attentions.

“What do you need?” asked Megatron as he looked away with a sigh and considered leaving his difficult captive to his own devices as requested.

“Need?”

“A clean rag, medication, a small weld patch? Did you find the injury?”

“I am looking. It’s nothing. A patch … if you have one. I can apply it myself.”

Megatron watched him for a moment. “I apologize. I did not intend to injure you." Then he told Optimus where he could find a few patches, and slowly adjusted his weight on his pedes.

“It’s fine,” Optimus repeated quietly, and kept his hand firm over his array. Inside, he watched Megatron like a cornered mouse might watch a slavering cat, though outwardly, he kept his gaze calm and even. Even so, there was a tremor of worry in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

 _Go away,_ his stressed spark whispered.

It finally seemed Optimus was to receive his desire as Megatron made a good-natured sound and started for the door. “Very well. I will leave you to it as you wish, if you are not upset, eh Prime?”

 _Of course I am upset! Just go!_ Optimus mentally hissed at Megatron's retreating back, just wanting some peace now.  _Vector sigma,_ he cursed internally in the very next second. Megatron had actually asked him a question. A small one, but unfortunately the coding had picked up on it: if he was upset then Megatron wouldn’t let him deal with this himself. The slave coding pressed him to reply.

And the truth was… he _was_ upset with Megatron.

He was upset with Megatron about absolutely everything that had happened to him, from the very moment he had been forcibly separated from Ratchet to the interface he had just endured against his will that morning, no matter how loud his cries had been ... the pleasure was unwanted. Megatron had already taken what he desired and had been preparing to leave for the day.

Optimus deeply wanted the reprieve the day offered. He was not happy, he was not appreciative, and if he voiced any of these truths, he was certain the response would be … unpleasant. All of these miserable truths raced through his mind and he clenched his denta, swallowing and swallowing against answering the retreating Megatron as the coding demanded.

He twitched and bit his glossa as the coding jagged at him louder and louder, demanding he answer.

He made the slightest choking sound as the pain quickly became unbearable.

Megatron halted at the door and turned slightly.

“Prime?”

“I’m fine,” Optimus gasped out, and then recoiled as the coding punished him for his lie. He flinched as Megatron stopped in his tracks, stood for a moment, and turned on his pedes and slowly walked back toward him. Heavy pede steps re-approached, thudding with that unhurried stride, weighted with privilege and command.

 _Just… leave!_ Optimus mentally yelled at the other.

But Megatron didn’t leave. He frowned down at Optimus instead, “Are you being truthful with me, Prime?”

“To a point,” Optimus hedged. He was getting very good at non-confrontational answers.

“But not entirely,” Megatron retorted patiently. “Prime,” he chuckled, “Are you deliberately trying to deceive me?”

“Somewhat,” Optimus was finally forced to choke out.

“Playing games are you?” Megatron smirked, now interested in this little chat. He loved it when Prime engaged with him and he already knew the Autobot was planning something, so that was no surprise. “Very well then...let us play. You will give me only yes or no answers. You will answer me truthfully as you know exactly what I mean when I ask you a question.”

“Now answer me,” Megatron commanded. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Nothing about this situation was alright.

“I caused your injury, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“…Yes.” Optimus choked on the answer, but there was only one correct word of the two he was allowed to use.

“I understand,” Megatron said, crossing his arms. He was intent on demonstrating how reasonable he was going to be with his companion. This fear the Prime had for him was unfounded as far as he was concerned. Submission was all he required, and he was being given that in spades.

“That was clumsy of me,” Megatron looked at him evenly. “Obviously I am not upset with you for admitting it. Tell me, Prime, if among the Autobots someone causes injury to another, would you expect them to address the situation and make it right?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. Perhaps I should do that, don’t you think?”

“No.”

Optimus touched his throat in frustration even as he said it and made a gesture for speaking. It was clear he was asking to be allowed to say more than just one word to argue his case.

Megatron considered him with a small frown, but then just turned and walked back over to the makeshift sunken shelf behind them. “Your sensitivities are ridiculous,” he snapped, “I have already seen you down to your deepest places. I have been medicating all of your ports and we were just interfacing not even a breem ago. My audials still ring with your cries.”

He rummaged through it as he spoke, gathering some supplies. His cultured voice suddenly took a more cheerful lilt. “You and your Autobots always blathered on about helping each other, Prime. Don’t you want to be helped?”

Megatron cocked a brow ridge at him in question.

Optimus closed his optics in pain at the mention of his lost mechs. He stopped fighting the coding then and just answered the questions. Megatron had taken from him the ability to be subtle in his answers. He had no choice now. Whatever happened would happen, even violence. He knew Megatron didn’t take rejection very well.

“…no.” _Not by you._

Megatron flicked a glance at him in growing irritation. “You want my help, don’t you? Admit it.”

“No.” _I want nothing from you. I am prepared to die free if that is all that freedom can mean for me now._

“Oh please. I heard you crying out for me not breems ago. I just finished cleaning the proof of your desire off the floor. For the thousandth time,” Megatron’s voice rang with frustration, “will you just relax, Prime?”

“No.” _I don’t accept you._

Megatron’s red optics flashed and he scowled furiously at Prime’s defiance. Lunging at his captive, he bared razor sharp denta while grabbing hold of Optimus by his arm. He yanked his companion forward, and Optimus just set his face impassively, helpless for whatever was coming. His eyes were wide, but otherwise he was seemingly calm. He winced when the Slagmaker grabbed his helm with his other servo and got right up into his face plates.

But Megatron saw that little movement and felt the alarm in Optimus' fields, and he clawed back control of his dangerous anger.

This spark was different than the others. This one was special. Any other to have defied him would have eaten his fist. For what he wanted out of their relationship, though, he can’t fall back on the Decepticon standard procedure of _pummel it until the problem goes away._ Instead, he held the blue helm tightly and looked his companion straight in his dignified, deceptively calm face plates. They shared ex-vents for the nearness.

Megatron knew he was slag at this, but he resolved himself to try. “Life is not so horrible here. I will drag you to a better place, to some semblance of normalcy, kicking and screaming the entire way if I must,” He hissed at Optimus. “You need me. I don’t care if you don’t appreciate it. Did I not tell you I would provide for you? Did I not explain I would persevere no matter how difficult you make life for me?”

Megatron tilted the blue helm back, kissed the metal between audial and neck, feeling as the other startled for the affectionate touch instead of the cruelty he was so clearly expecting. “I meant it when I told you I have faith that our situation will get better.”

Then Megatron released Optimus’ helm and beheld him with a determined gaze. “Lay back,” he commanded sharply with his helm held harsh and high. “Hands at your sides and spread your legs.”

Optimus huffed quietly and obeyed.

“Bull-helmed, over-sensitive Autobot,” Megatron grumbled to himself as he reached for the first aid supplies.

Optimus stared at his back plating as he turned away to rummage.

For the first time since the beginning of his captivity, some tiny flicker of hope flared; a candle’s flicker in a storm of depression. It was not from the affectionate touch which he had always discarded as insincere, but for the feel of the stronger field pulsing over him. Something was emanating from underneath that dangerous anger, something in Megatron’s field that held sincerity. He'd actually _felt it_ intervene when Megatron had lunged toward him.

Optimus leaned back, stared up at the ceiling, and prepared himself to endure even more invasion. He still intended to escape this dreadful fate one way or another, but perhaps there was some point in engaging with Megatron after all. Maybe that horrible list  actually _was_ a mistake, as Megatron had insisted.

Dark servos returned to his plating and remained gentle with him, even after he'd utterly rejected them.

That, he had not expected.

 

* * *

 

Megatron had been a storm cloud all that afternoon.

Starscream had taken one look at his furious face plates  - with the ever loyal Soundwave standing next to him - and smiled sheepishly from the throne room door. Starscream had grinned (from his safe distance from the telepath) and cheerfully saluted his leader and then idled away at the highest rate of speed he could manage while still maintaining dignity.

 _Damn you,_ Megatron scowled after him. _Get back here and insult me, you beautiful glitch._

Nothing cleared his anger like smacking around mouthy, shameless back-stabbing glitches, but Starscream did not see fit to oblige him. So when the cry of “Unicronians on the way!” came though his open emergency comms from Octane (who was ten miles out on perimeter patrol) Megatron was absolutely delighted to have someone to pummel to scrap. He roared into the crudely wired ship-wide announcement panel - now affixed to the arm of his throne - for his warriors to assemble at the main entrance.

Soundwave has been hard at work setting up emergency comms systems and alarms practically from the moment he came back online. Soundwave had made everything himself, by hand, out of the rusted useless garbage metal that surrounded them, and already he was proving his worth to his faction as Megatron’s orders carried throughout the entire ship.

It was an eerily similar situation as the previous attack, with Decepticons charging for the exit in a seething mass of pedes, fists, and weapons. However, this time Megatron actually listened when Starscream’s insistent vocalizer started shooting quick-fire suggestions about battle strategies into his private internal comms.

The Decepticons prepared for battle as the Unicronians roared in. But instead of throwing themselves at the Decepticon base as they normally did, the Sweeps stopped a half mile out and landed in the distance. Then Galvatron stood out from his soldier drones and fired a single shot from his particle accelerator cannon into the air.

Parlay.

Megatron saw the enemy’s requested summons, frowned, and ordered most of his mechs to sheath their weapons. "Follow me," Megatron ordered, "This could be interesting." His solders did as told and followed him out to greet their enemies. Galvatron was up to something, he was sure.

So far Megatron hadn’t seen much in the way of tactics from his Unicronian counterpart. That in and of itself was odd for such a long-lived being; poor tactics didn't lend well to success and long life. By now the crazy bastard had to have noticed how poorly his current strategy of 'throw ourselves at them and let Unicron sort it out' had been working, even if he could keep reanimating his own dead.

All of his soldiers except Starscream, Soundwave, Swindle, and Divebomb followed him out the base. Megatron ordered the four of them to stay behind to defend the distillery. Soundwave was currently resting in his quarters and directing his deployed cassettes from afar, though he was no less in play for that. His cassettes were no pushovers.

Megatron took the rest of his warriors out to meet Galvatron.

**...**

Optimus, hard at work carving out the last few pieces of the chess set - his spark only a little lighter than before - tilted his helm at the announcement. Dropping everything into his subspace, he headed for the door and made his way down the empty corridors to the front entrance just as Megatron was preparing to leave.

“Prime!” Megatron ordered over his shoulder as he powered up his thrusters, “Starscream is staying behind, obey him as you would obey me.”

“I understand, Leader.” Optimus called out.

That was worrying; he may be forced to entertain the capricious jet while they waited. Hopefully Starscream was no longer inclined towards revenge. He took his customary position and saw Starscream standing with Divebomb and Swindle just outside.

Several of the Decepticons whacked him cheerfully on his back plates as they passed. Their assumptions of familiarity - taken by him as mockery - was grating, and then Skywarp boldly made to slap his aft. Optimus dodged the playful slap and steadfastly threatened the purple and black jet with a fist and his most disapproving frown, and with a _wharp_ sound the jet rematerialized behind him. But Optimus had battled this mech before and sidestepped the instant he disappeared, and Skywarp's next attempt met only empty air.

“Skywarp! Move your aft!” Starscream yelled at his trine mate.

“Maybe next time, Prime.” Skywarp grinned at him playfully and with another _wharp_ disappeared to join the others.

Optimus slowly relaxed as Starscream immediately ordered Divebomb to guard the armada’s launch hatch and sent Swindle to the distillery. Meanwhile, Starscream remained standing just inside the entrance of the base, with Optimus maintaining position where he was.

Optimus resigned himself to remaining behind as base defense. He really did miss a good fight.

**...**

Optimus could tell it was a good fight from the deafening roar from the crowd of Decepticons and Sweeps clustered half a mile away.

Parlay in effect, the disappointed base defenders had to follow the action from reports given by the tinny voice of Thundercracker coming from Starscream’s wrist comm. Apparently Galvatron had offered a peace treaty in exchange for “your shareware seeker and the Autobot” and Megatron had not dignified that offer with an official response. He'd simply offered up a wicked grin and said something under his breath to his counterpart, then punched the Unicronian Lord right in his face plates.

“You leave my shareware out of this,” Thundercracker reported was Megatron's retort. Skywarp could be heard cracking up in the background.

“He called me a **what?!"** Starscream shrieked at the highest possible decibels. Optimus just groaned and rubbed the base of his nasal sensor between his optics.

Parlay unofficially over, the two were going at it full out while the warriors of both factions watched from the sidelines and cheered their respective leaders. Optimus realized he was going to be missing the entire thing. He couldn’t help but be a little worried and settled himself down to wait.

And he wasn’t alone in his frustration.

 _His wings look angry._ Optimus was starting to pick up the most obvious of seeker moods via their wings, and he could tell without seeing Starscream’s face that he was absolutely furious.

“Why aren’t you out with them?” Optimus called to him, unable to contain his curiosity. Starscream was an accomplished warrior. Base defense was something of a very light punishment for Decepticons, usually reserved for lighter builds or mechs out of favor with Megatron.

 _Or slaves,_ he considered. _Perhaps I should push and see if Megatron would allow me to join actual offensives now._ Megatron had been slightly more accommodating as of late. If he would agree, there would be far better chance of escape.

**...**

“Megatron is concerned about a sneak attack,” Starscream hissed back, finally answering Prime’s question after a long, angry pause. He heard Prime grunt in understanding, quietly agreeing it would be a good move on the part of the enemy.

Megatron had ordered Starscream to stay behind and he was beyond furious over it. Base defense was beneath him! He was _Starscream_ , the most accomplished of all of the Slagmaker's warriors! And here he was, left behind to defend the base. Never mind that Megatron was suspicious of a sneak attack. Never mind that Cyclonus was nowhere to be seen among the Unicronians.

Starscream had to force himself to obey, as missing this fight was exasperating.

 _The frag I will just stay behind,_ the jet snarled to himself, but his pedes stayed planted on the ground. As reluctant as he was to stay behind, he was as good a tactician as Megatron and - with his own admittedly high estimation of his skills - he fully agreed with his leader’s assessment. He was the best warrior to counter Galvatron's second-in-command should he attack.

Another distant roar from the Decepticons as Megatron must have scored a good hit.

“There is no sign of Cyclonus,” Starscream further explained, irritated and wanting to complain to somebody about it. “Our _glorious_ leader said he wanted someone he knew was competent to stay behind.”

Starscream said this with more than a hint of pride (honest compliments from Megatron were rare and to be treasured after all) but his wings dropped a little as the sound of a deafening roar from the distant warrior audience floated to their audials. Good entertainment was also rare and to be treasured.

“It’s a good fight, and I am missing it!” The Air Commander shrieked.

Then Starscream's wrist communicator crackled and there was a furious rush of sound as the Decepticons and the Sweeps engaged in battle. Thundercracker reported that Galvatron had knocked their leader down to one knee and then ordered his Sweeps to attack as he perceived the fall as a sign of weakness.

Starscream snorted at that. There was nothing weak about his pit-spawned glitch of a leader. The Unicronians would learn that eventually - as Starscream had - one painful encounter after the other.

“The boss isn’t even venting hard yet,” Skywarp's voice snapped angrily from the static over the wrist communicator. Then the sounds of furious battle drowned out his next words.

There was a buzz of engines above them, and suddenly Megatron’s concern manifested itself as Prime and Starscream were attacked by a small strike squad, led by Cyclonus. They were clearly trying to get to the energon cubes. Starscream shouted warning to the rest of the base defenders and then charged out to meet his opponents. Wings snapped erect, he was more than happy to be able to join the fight at last.

Prime had his back and engaged the charging Sweeps as Starscream and Cyclonus raced to clash with each other. The thrashing sounds of furious battle as Prime fought with Galvatron’s drones, keeping them off the seeker, rattled Starscream’s audials.

Then the Air Commander had his own fight to deal with.

“You!” Cyclonus called out as he dodged under the seeker’s greeting fist and lashed out with a strike of his own. His connected, and the blow knocked Starscream's helm back.

“You are Megatron’s consort!”

“Something like that,” Starscream hissed, falling back a bit as he wiped at his bleeding intakes and raised his wingblade. First blood to Cyclonus. A vicious grin sliced across his beautiful face and he immediately charged back with his blade at the ready, lashing out at his counterpart.

**...  
**

Galvatron broke off from Megatron, who was currently buried under a thrashing pile of Sweeps. "I am Megatron! I cannot be defeate-" was the muffled howl from somewhere in the middle of the mass as Galvatron stumbled back to catch his ventilations.

 _This battle goes well,_ he thought proudly.

He was confident in himself and his superiority and he wasted a moment looking over the battlefield, his pedes spread and stance battle ready. _I am the Destroyer of Worlds. I am the Bringer of Darkness. I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, I am unmatched in strength, and all shall kneel before their-_

…wait. Where was his second?

 _We have an objective here today,_ he reminded himself, tapping a finger along his nasal ridge. He couldn’t afford to get lost in the heat of battle as he so often did. A failing perhaps, he was coming to realize. It seemed to consistently cost him the larger battles lately. But self-criticism was a slow process for him, involving many punches to his arrogant processor before some concepts could fully sink in.

Galvatron slid into a more aggressive battle stance as a heavily built Decepticon rushed at him, and he grappled with the Combaticon named Brawl. He tested his opponent’s strength against his own, and found it wanting. He grinned at the Brawl while his opponent struggled under his punishing grip.

Strategies and objectives faded from his mind as he bared his fanged denta and bent and buckled his opponent’s metal under punishing servos.

**...  
**

“Starscream!” Optimus yelled up at the two battling mechs. He was standing almost directly beneath them as their fight led them further and further from the base they were supposed to be guarding. “We shouldn’t leave the base!”

“Frag off, Prime!” Starscream yelled back at him as he and Cyclonus battled higher into the air, trading furious blows back and forth while darting across the skies.

There was a long, stunned moment for Optimus as he processed that direct order from Starscream... an order he had to obey as if given from Megatron himself.

 _He just ordered me to frag off._ _Starscream wants me to leave. He ordered me to leave!_

It didn’t matter that it was said perhaps offhandedly or in jest.

An order was an order.

His stressed, faded plating flared in excitement.

He whirled on his pede and took a hopeful step towards the horizon.

He gasped as the coding remained silent.

No punishment. _Nothing!_

He transformed and rolled for the nearest crevasse, fragging off as hard as he possibly could.

Dust billowed beneath his frantically spinning tires. The landscape flashed by as he taxed his tired engine to its limits. _I am such a good slave,_ he mockingly whispered back to the coding, and huffed to himself in amusement.

For the first time in a long time, his spark leapt in his chamber for joy.

Optimus reached the cliff of the deepest crevasse and - without the slightest hesitation - threw himself right over.

…

Galvatron’s head jerked up as he heard Cyclonus' call over his comms. His second had cornered Megatron’s seeker consort, and was requesting assistance.

Cyclonus had managed to lure Starscream away from the Decepticon base, out several miles or so as instructed, and had even damaged one of Starscream's turbines to keep him from flying away. But it had cost him several vicious cuts and slashes to do so and his strength was waning. Galvatron could hear Starscream's unique voice hurling insults in the background as his own second in command struggled with his task.

Galvatron released his Combaticon opponent and punched him away into a crowd of engaging Sweeps. After making sure Megatron was too embroiled in battle with his drones - "death is the price for daring to stand against Megatron!" - to notice, he quickly disengaged and headed towards Cyclonus’ coordinates. He intended to pay Megatron’s consort back for his insolence today.

Galvatron arrived just as his second went down. Starscream had been about to finish off his opponent, but he couldn’t waste the time now. Galvatron was striding toward him in earnest.

Staring disapprovingly down at his struggling second, Galvatron frowned as Starscream bowed theatrically before him, one foot perched on a collapsed Cyclonus. Then Starscream callously wiped his wingblade clean on his defeated opponent’s plating.

 _He has style,_ the Galvatron was forced to admit. _And beauty._

Lord Megatron’s jets have beautiful frame types, and something tinged away at him; a memory from long ago. He pushed the memory-file away as he watched Cyclonus furiously kick away from the seeker.

"Return to direct my troops," Galvatron ordered, seeming to ignore the fact that his second was badly injured. Cyclonus obeyed without a word. He stumbled back to a safe distance, staggering to his pedes and quickly pinching off slashed, leaking tubing. He offered an apologetic glance to Galvatron and then took back to the skies, heading back towards the fighting on shaky thrusters.

“You are looking better then when I last saw you,” Starscream insulted the approaching Galvatron. “Let's do something about that, you tin-plated scrap heap!”

Galvatron hissed in appreciation at the fearlessness of the approaching warrior and set his pedes into his favorite battle stance.

…

Starscream rushed forward and slashed out with his wingblade while at the same time providing his faction of homicidal glitches his coordinates over internal comms. He'd just been ready to finish off Cyclonus, triumphant, but now the arrival of Galvatron tipped this encounter out of his favor.

Starscream thought highly of himself, but he couldn't fly away right now and he refused to underestimate this dangerous adversary again. For all of Starscream's theatrics, Cyclonus had not been a pushover. He was sporting some serious wounds from their fight along with his damaged turbine.

Fortunately the fluttering within him remained strong and constant. _I won’t let you take this one from me,_ he thought as he carefully slashed at his enemy. _Not if I can help it._

Galvatron dipped to the side, slipped forward and smashed a fist into the seeker’s face plates, knocking him back. To his great approval, Starscream simply grinned at him, spat out some internal fluid and rushed forward for another slashing strike. Starscream exuded strength, even damaged as he was.

Appearances must be kept.

“Galvatron remembers you,” the Unicronian announced. He grinned as he openly admired the sleek lines and sharp angles of the vicious seeker before him. It was a conscious, planned gesture.

 _While it is always nice to be admired,_ Starscream smirked to himself, _that’s actually a sound ploy to put me off guard. Good luck trying to out-con a ‘con._ He sneered at Galvatron in reply and ignored the leer. Starscream refused to drop his guard. Not to mention how much he despised the barbarian eyeing his frame. Starscream won’t allow himself to be distracted. Not with this powerful adversary. Not without the ability to escape to the skies.

“You are the consort of my enemy,” Galvatron said, stalking forward with surprising quickness, trying a different tact as flattery hadn’t seemed to affect Starscream. “Truly, he has questionable taste in mechs.” Then he lunged.

This time it was Galvatron who spat internal fluid, as Starscream dodged the incoming blow. He spinned, smashed his opponent with the handle of his blade and then leapt back out of range of the retaliatory blow aimed for his neck.

Starscream laughed at Galvatron, greatly amused. “You have no idea,” he hissed, and slashed again. His wingblade cut through air. His opponent parried and nearly landed another hit, but Starscream kicked back and away just in time.

 _Where are those idiots?_   Starscream hissed to himself, upset that at the very least his trine hasn’t arrived yet. He couldn’t really expect competence from his pit-spawned leader after all. He really shouldn’t be fighting this mech alone, but the damage to his turbine was going to be keeping him out of the air for now. He couldn’t escape.

“Tell me,” Galvatron asked, lip plating curling into an angry snarl, “does he take my slave?”

The barbarian rushed forward again, but Starscream activated his one working heel turbine, leapt up and flipped himself over Galvatron's helm and sliced out on the way back down, scoring a harsh slash across his adversary’s shoulder and back plating.

 _The fool just admitted he was possessive of Prime for some reason,_ the seeker considered as he twisted through the air. That was a weakness and something Starscream could exploit.

A distracted enemy was an enemy that was easier to defeat.

“All the fragging time,” Starscream hissed in answer. He landed with a graceful flourish and Galvatron whirled around in the same instant and reset into a battle stance, fangs bared in pain. “Every cycle, morning until night, all you can hear are the screams. Transfluid all over the floor and walls, our coolant supplies completely drained, and the slave’s endless begging for mercy gives me a _splitting_ processor ache.”

A complete and utter exaggeration, but Starscream could tell he had angered his adversary. “You know,” he smirked, launching his next volley, “Your sad little slave told our glorious leader that you couldn’t even find your connector with both hands to plug in to him.”

Starscream offered up his best sneer, “Not that I would expect anything different from a barbarian such as yourself. Do you even know what an overload is?” There was a dangerous electric zeal in the air, and he took the moment to adjust his own battle stance, a classic one for a Vosian fighter.

“Galvatron knows,” Galvatron assured him with a furious scoff as he stalked forward. Then the hatred on his face disappeared, replaced by sudden curiosity, and he slid to a halt. Something about Starscream’s current battle posture - those sleek wings held so proudly aloft - jogged his memory files.

“From what city state do you hail?” Galvatron asked, gesturing at the proud white wings. “Your lines, they are familiar to me.”

“I am a Winglord of Vos,” Starscream introduced himself with a wing-flare. “A prince of my kind, and no, we have never met. I would have remembered your appalling stupidity. It is a wonder you can even speak at all with your defunct, outdated processor.”

Galvatron ignored the insults, as he remembered Vos, remembered the glorious spires and beautiful nobles of that long lost State. Something in the Unicronian Lord’s manner changed. One paradigm shift later, and now Starscream fell under a category he really, really didn’t want to be in. It was not a good thing, Starscream could sense, as Galvatron’s plating flared in sudden erotic excitement.

“I dwelled in Vos, long ago,” Galvatron interrupted the momentary pause, his voice distant and thoughtful. “You are a prince of that great state,” he murmured to himself, looking not so much away as inward, “Truly you are worthy of my attention.”

Then Galvatron threw out his hand suddenly, in offering. “Join me, he said. “Together we will defeat our enemies and rule this world.”

Starscream just stared at him for a long moment…thinking. Planning, plotting, and trickery of all sorts raced through his clever processor. Then an instant later he discarded those half-considered ideas for one simple truth: he absolutely despised this processor-addled, insufferable mech and there was no way in the pit he was letting this idiot order him around or get anywhere near his ports. He had standards, after all. Questionable ones, it was true, but standards nonetheless.

And he says so.

Galvatron snarls at the rejection and Starscream smirked as he faced down yet _another_ mech with control issues and problems with rejection. _Been there, done that,_ he snorted. _Wait, still doing that. Heh._

His face plates were just a fraction too relaxed as Megatron’s last punishment frag flickered through his mind, his body smashed between a furious silver warbuild and the back of the harsh throne. It had been a vicious, aggressive re-enactment of the frag Megatron had inflicted on his Prime at the trial aka party.

Good times.

Unfortunately for him, a distracted mech was a mech easier to defeat.

Bright red optics remained unfocused while his mind wandered for barely an instant within his mental span. Unfortunately, the fraction of an instant it takes him to return his focus from the world within to the world outside is just long enough.

He refocused in time to process the purple fist right before it exploded in his face. Starscream’s optic sensors flared up a bright white and he was knocked offline for the briefest moment.

…

Starscream gasped back online as something very heavy pressed down on him. The harsh weight bore down, pushing his light frame into the grit of the dirty ground.

 _There is an input cable in my medical port,_ he realized with a surge of dread. The line was running to a small device lying next to him, dumped haphazardly next to his wing.

An eager Galvatron was seated atop him, holding him down. He realized the danger and tried to rip the cable out with frantic servos. But Galvatron merely grabbed his servos and slammed them back, using his superior weight to control the lighter build beneath him. Sneering down at the smaller body, he confirmed what Starscream was already dreading.

“You are defeated. Now you will serve me in all ways, with your frame, your mind, and your spark. You should have accepted my offer, prince of Vos. Now you will serve me as my slave.”

Galvatron seemed triumphant, but Starscream didn’t feel any different, and then he realized that the medical port wasn’t active yet. _I am still free. I still have time._ _I am not taking this lying down!_

Starscream used that time to his full ability. He'd seen what the coding was doing to the once proud and powerful Prime, and he'd finally come to believe Prime when he said he would rather die than live the rest of his life as a helpless slave. Starscream thrashed and bucked and shrieked insults at his attacker, but the heavy bulk above him didn’t move an iota.

He heard Galvatron laugh instead.

 _Not all of my limbs are controlled,_   Starscream realized then. With one last hissed threat, he tilted and rotated his sensitive white wing, lifting it up and bringing it smashing back down on the tiny medical device next to him.

The sound of shattered technology was the sweetest music to his audials. The scream of rage from the body atop him was a source of sudden confirmation.

“That was your only copy of the slave coding, wasn’t it?” Starscream crowed up at the silver and purple hulk straddling him, his lip plating curved in sheer delight. Even if this mech killed him now, he'd still won an incredible victory over his enemy.

“You will pay for this outrage, Vosian!” Galvatron looked fit to be tied, his optics wild and bulging.

“Oh clumsy me,” Starscream snarked oh-so-gleefully at the impotent bastard above him. Then recoiled at the murderous look in Galvatron's optics. His keen instincts for self-survival prompted him to start begging for his life, and he opened his mouth to do just that.

He _was_ shameless after all.

“I can see you are broken up about this…wait! Please! Let’s not be hasty-”

A purple fist exploded into his face plates yet again.

…

Another gasp, and Starscream was back online. Relief cycled through him. _Still alive,_ he thought.

But this time wakefulness brings pain.

Starscream’s interface plate was already ripped free of his body and discarded a few paces away. His limbs were held down and still controlled by the weight of Galvatron atop him. He looked up and the pelvic span was silver, and above that was a regal purple. So was the spike now poised above his pelvic span and he hissed in surprise at the sight.

And then Galvatron buried his spike to the hilt with one great and brutal thrust.

Starscream's eyes flew open wide in realization and his wings flared in shock, biting back a cry. Then the heavy mech pulled up and the spike buried so brutally in his valve slammed back down again and again.

Long accustomed to such treatment, his valve pearled lubricant with feverish haste. The initial heat and grind of dry metal was normally an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure for Starscream. The joy of eons of history - of lust and longing for a silver warlord - had always intermingled with his fierce desire for power and domination, further heightened by the electric spice of pain. But this was not the invader he was so habituated to. This sexual attack was not at all expected, desired, and intentionally provoked.

 _So damned rude!_ Starscream spared an instant to be completely insulted.

Starscream was a Decepticon and forced interfacing was a fact of life at times, and so the emotional violation of forced contact barely even registered to him, even though the mech above him was not of his faction. What did register was the furious insult. Even more so, the complete lack of any … competence … at all from his attacker. He considered the mech above him an imbecile, beneath him, and what he was enduring was nothing more than empty rutting.

There was no enjoyment whatsoever, and Starscream was no mech’s frag toy.

 _You slagging philistine,_ the livid Starscream glowered daggers up at the mech pounding him into the dirt. Then Galvatron withdrew and slammed back into him, again and again. Accustomed to hard frags, his valve had happily taken many a dry spike before, but he still yelped in surprise when the thick tip battered his ceiling node.

So crude.

Starscream shrieked in outrage. Pulling his long legs up, he slammed them against the bastard currently seated deep in his frame. And then his world went white again as a purple fist exploded in his face yet again.

Gulping in cooler air, Starscream's system re-booted and he was plunged back into his current, miserable reality. He could tell from the frantic, uncoordinated thrusts that his enemy was getting close. This rutting attack was going long and his valve was hot with pain. There was no charge within him. His own lubrication had stopped after the initial pulse as he felt no arousal from this contact; his valve was taking damage now. Sparks flashed from the grinding of their metal. The thrusting lifted and dropped his much lighter frame, smacking and dragging his wings over and over onto the dirty ground, scratching them. He tilted them up to get them off the ground and snarled at his attacker. His legs were spread so far he could barely move them. He felt used and disgusting and tried hard to shove the heavy hulk off of him, without success.

With one final brutal plunge into his valve, he felt Galvatron overload, releasing his charge with a flood of hot fluid that burned over his internal injuries. There was a delighted hiss from above as his adversary finished, and retracted his large spike.

“I thought you didn’t like Cybertronians for interfacing, you slag-sucking glitch,” Starscream hissed at him. He was hating the feel of the burning transfluid smeared over him and dripping out of his valve. He was also startled to note that the mech above him only had a spike. There was no valve covering at all.

 _If the other Unicronians are like him_ , _that might explain some of the frustration. All spikes, with nothing to dip them in._ _But that doesn’t explain why he refused to take Prime, though ... unless he thinks he is too good for an Autobot._

“That was most adequate, Vosian. I know you weren’t awake for it,” the Unicronian snorted at the slight, “But you should know you are now honored to be Galvatron’s favorite.”

Galvatron foolishly released one of Starscream’s servos to pat him on his helm like some kind of pet and Starscream's fury was reborn like a fiery phoenix from the ashes of his dismay.

Starscream gave no warning screech this time. Instead, he punched Galvatron in his face plates with his free servo while simultaneously kneeing him in his panels, unbalancing his attacker. He twisted himself free and tore away. He was just about to try to sprint for it when he was pounced upon from behind. He was still unbalanced from the strikes to his helm, and an instant later his face was smashed into the grit and he was taken again, this time from behind.

“Where are you!?” Starscream yelled internally into his comms for his trine on their private channel. “I commed for help breems ago you useless twits!” Static burst through his comm line in reply. _Likely still stuck in battle._ _It’s up to me to save myself._

The problem was he wasn't sure he _could_ save himself.

His helm rolled to the side as he was struck with a wave of vertigo. All the helm punches really weren't doing him any favors. The fluttering within his abdominals agreed, and the movements grew more intense as the tiny newspark endured along with him.

The hulking mech above him continued his harsh thrusts, rutting mindlessly towards another overload. Animalistic grunts marked each thrust. _Prime really didn’t miss anything being rejected by this slagging lunatic,_ and Starscream was beyond furious. _A rutting Predacon would be more skilled._

Starscream, the connoisseur of pain that he was, was completely unimpressed with his attacker. He found himself thrashing in searing pain at the crude, grating hits to his burning array. Galvatron was grinding his valve lining brutally, and he could feel his internal fluids mixing with the transfluid leaking out around the punishing spike and down his lower span.

 _Hold on,_ Starscream whispered to the distressed fluttering as the purple servo around his helm tightened painfully. _I will get us out of this. I always do._

He gathered himself and kicked out furiously, striking at his attacker with his heel. “If I wanted to be rutted like a slagging beast,” he shrieked at the mech behind him, “We have Predacons for that! And they would do a far better job at it then _you_ , you fragging slagheap!”

“I can see why my adversary likes you,” Galvatron replied between grunts. “You are defeated with your face in the dirt and still so… proud. It is good you are not a slave,” he decided while pushing back in harshly. All the thrashing and shrieking was most amusing to him.

What a delightful mech!

“Perhaps,” he continued with a huff from his exertions, “I will spare you when your faction is defeated and you all serve me as Sweeps.”

“It will have to be as Sweeps,” Starscream snarled back hatefully, “Now that you have lost the slave coding, you half-clocked, bolt-licking slag sucker!” He still felt satisfaction for his victory over Galvatron, no matter what the glitch was doing now to his burning and aching valve.

Galvatron redoubled his efforts at battering him and Starscream shrieked, hurling insults at the mech pounding into him and trying feverishly to unbalance the heavy weight of the mech crushing him into the ground.

“You will be most pleasing to me on your knees,” Galvatron retorted, “in service before Galvatron. I will put your intakes to good use.”

**CRAAACK-BOOOOOOOM!**

Came a thundering sonic boom from the distance and the sounds of flight engines approaching, engines thrumming at their utmost speed. Starscream could make out three, two lighter builds and one much heavier engine.

 _Finally my utterly useless faction has decided to show up,_ and Starscream felt a deep surge of relief. He kicked out at the hulk still violating his valve, thrashing furiously.

“Starscream!” and Skywarp sounded as livid as he felt. “What the frag?!”

“GET THIS SLAG-SUCKING FRAGGER OFF ME!” Starscream shrieked at the utmost of his upper vocal ranges.

 **“Get off my jet,”** a deep, hate-filled roar resounded as a heavy silver blur obliged his shriek for help. The impact from Megatron smashed into the hulk currently atop his favorite seeker, throwing Galvatron off the smaller jet. Within the space of an in-vent the two warlords were back to viciously battering each other.

“Ouch,” Starscream murmured, the force of Galvatron being violently removed from within his plating leaving a furious sting in his array. He was completely fine with it, too. With a groan, he rolled over and sat back to inspect himself.

Meanwhile Galvatron was snarling invectives and Megatron was busy furiously stuffing his insults right back down his vocalizer with his fists. Realizing he was now outnumbered by his enemies and dangerously exposed, Galvatron disengaged from his aggressive opponent and leapt into the air to flee and regroup with his Sweeps.

“Starscream, are you alright?” Thundercracker landed next to him, watching as Megatron battled Galvatron, prepared to assist if needed. Skywarp was landing right behind him, taking care to snatch up Starscream's discarded interface plate for him.

In the background, Megatron was unwilling to let his opponent off so easily. Leaping after him, Megatron knocking Galvatron out of the sky. They hit the ground in a painful-looking impact, rolling in a blinding blur of fists and knees and gritted denta as Megatron returned to pounding the living spark out of his counterpart. Grabbing a handhold, Megatron managed to haul himself on top of Galvatron and then gleefully transformed into tank mode. The bulk of his weight no longer mass-displaced, Megatron was now too heavy for Galvatron to lift easily. He used his weight to drag Galvatron along the ground, trying to grind and crush him under his razor-sharp tank treads.

Finally Galvatron tore himself free with a snarl. Sporting tank treads in bleeding slashes all over his frame, he transformed into his jet mode and blasted away. Megatron leapt after him and gave chase for a little while, but then banked to return to the command trine’s location as Onslaught reported the all clear.

The Unicronians had retreated.

...

“He said I am his favorite frag now.” Starscream scowled down at the mess splattered over his legs, equal parts Unicronian transfluid and his own internal fluid. “Lucky me.” He spat out the internal fluids building in his intakes, grimacing in revulsion.

“Ugh,” Skywarp coughed in disgust, “Uh…’Screamer? Why is it… green?” Staring at the mess coating his trine mate, Skywarp looked sick to his fuel tanks.

“Don’t call me that,” Starscream snarled at Skywarp in warning, and then stared down at the dripping mess draining out of his valve and splattered all over his lower body.

_He’s right._

Starscream blinked with sick realization. _It is green._ He was suddenly overwhelmed with disgust and alarm. The color of healthy Cybertronian transfluid was a soft glowing pink, the energy level needing to be high enough to support the first stirrings of life. What was coating his valve and lower body was glowing a strange green color and didn’t look…healthy. The smell was worse.

“Revolting.” Thundercracker said, completely repulsed. “…that’s not alright, and you are bleeding too. We don’t have medical equipment or a med scanner. Other than Hook’s internal one…”

Starscream looked down at himself, saw his damaged turbine and realized he would have to _walk back to base like this_ and made a horrified, high pitched noise. His volume increased when he realized there was a chance that Hook might notice something very critical about his patient if he was allowed to hardline in to him. His own spark dropped at the thought even as the smaller one within him fluttered steadily.

He would never trust Hook near his body again, his or the much smaller one inside him. “Do something!” Starscream screeched at his trine mates, starting to panic.

“Come on, let’s fly back to the base,” Thundercracker pulled on him, “You can clean off in the communal washracks. They are closer.”

Starscream shrieked at the suggestion. “I can’t fly! And I can’t let the grounders see me like this! I will never live it down!”

“Starscream, you want me to…?” Skywarp subspaced a rag and gestured at the mess.

“Frag yes. This is vile and wrong,” Starscream snarled. He calmed a bit as his trine mate attacked the mess for him while Thundercracker looked on sympathetically.

There was a roar of a powerful engine and Megatron landed a few feet away and strode over. He pulled a face as he checked over his favorite jet.

Skywarp saw his look and hissed in agreement. “I know, right? Unicronians are so _wrong._ And I don’t have any other rags or anything, sorry.”

"That one isn’t going to be much help anymore,” Thundercracker said, regretfully. Megatron frowned and subspaced a rag and handed it over to Skywarp, who gave a grateful flick of his black wing.

“We have washracks for this sort of thing you know.” Megatron said archly, and then ducked when a shapely heel lashed out at his face. He stepped back to a safer distance and watched the proceedings, unhappy to see the large amount of internal fluid trickling out and down Starscream's legs.

Megatron didn’t think to ask Starscream if he was alright, or worry about any psychological issues the mech might have suffered after being forcibly taken by a member of the enemy faction. Starscream was a Decepticon, and they took such things as forced interfacing far more pragmatically then other factions. And it was true, as Starscream was far more upset about the lack of appropriate back up from his faction then the attack itself.

“What the frag took you so long you aft?!” Starscream snarled at Megatron, well and truly furious with his leader. “I sent you my coordinates, oh I don’t know, forever ago?!”

Megatron sighed and gestured down at himself. He was covered from head to pede with cuts and slashes. “I do believe I was drowning in the entire Sweep army. I arrived as quickly as I could.”

“That’s no excuse,” Starscream spat at him. “I dealt with their command alone, you sorry scrap heap! I softened Galvatron up for you and Cyclonus may still offline for fluid loss. You had better have _killed_ all those slagging sweeps. They barely count as enemies.”

Megatron took the fussing without comment, knowing better than to offer any sympathy. Starscream would only take it as pity, further enraging the already raging jet. He frowned at the green mess still leaking out of Starscream's delicate places, and though his legs were clear, it was obvious that his internals were still coated. Noting the damaged turbine, Megatron could only sigh. Not only was he going to be carrying his messy jet back to the base, coating his own open and bleeding plating with Galvatron’s transfluid, but he was going to have to hold Starscream down for Hook to provide needed repairs, too.

 _Primus_ , but Megatron was not looking forward to it. “Washracks…” he repeated. He stepped forward and reached out for the jet.

Starscream kicked at him again. “I can’t let the grounders see me like this!” he shrieked, and then ordered Skywarp to fly back and bring him a bucket of cleanser while simultaneously ordering them all to secrecy _or else_.

“But we don’t have any buckets!” Skywarp waved his arms in distress.

“Then _make_ me one,” Starscream shrieked, and no, he was not going anywhere looking like this. He was probably _poisoned_. All of this was _their entire fault_.

Rolled his optics at the growing hysterics, Megatron just grabbed Starscream by his hip struts and pulled him close. He leapt into the air, flying swiftly while Starscream continued to snarl insults at him.

“We will be discrete,” Megatron finally muttered down to his snarling jet. “I will drop you off at the flight hatch. Everyone is still outside, cleaning up. I won’t say a word and I will order the others to watch their vocalizers.”

“Fine,” Starscream said with wing flick for the concession, “But I am not going to let Hook touch me.”

“He has to repair your turbine," Megatron said evenly. "You must be able to fly.”

“I won’t put up a fight,” Starscream wheedled, “But only if you keep everyone else away and he doesn’t get to hardline into me. Or touch my interface array. I am fine and I don’t want that psycho glitch to touch my ports.”

Megatron nodded in grim agreement while pretending to be annoyed with his fussy jet’s entirely reasonable demands. He cut his flight engine for a moment, as if he were having engine trouble due to damage, giving him an excuse to squeeze the cold and shaky Starscream tighter against his warm frame. He carefully hugged the filthy, snarling, and still so beautiful flight frame closer without giving any indication he was doing so intentionally.

Appearances must be kept.

…

Megatron discreetly approached the base and dropped Starscream at the armada flight deck as promised. Barely an instant later and Starscream fled for his quarters and a shower after he promised to meet Megatron at the medical bay for repairs from Hook in a few joors.

The Decepticons were gathered outside and the cleanup had already begun. Megatron was surprised to see Prime was not working amongst his soldiers as he normally did after a battle. He flew back up into the air and did a quick check, searching for but failing to spot the familiar blue and red plating.

A small flicker of electric worry raced up his neck diode. Megatron dropped back to the ground with a heavy thud and strode with haste towards the base entrance to see what had become of his captive berth mate.

He stood in the entrance for a moment and peered inside. Piles of Sweep bodies littered the ground, and internal fluid was puddled here and there and even splattered up the walls, always a satisfying sight. But other than that tell-tale pile of voraciously pummeled and deactivated Sweeps, there was no sign of Prime.

He stepped deeper into the base, his plating flaring in worry.

“Prime?” he called out, his booming voice echoing down the hallways. His concern morphed into alarm when he checked his quarters for Prime and they were empty.

The hollow room seemed colder then usual and his spark dropped in its chamber.

He commed Starscream.

…

The Air Commander of the Decepticons stood in his small shower with his optics closed and his wings drooped in relief.

The hot fluid spray and the smell of cleansers on his plating went a long way towards calming him. Starscream sighed, feeling a deep sense of relief as the filth rinsed off his body and the fluttering remained strong in his internals. Whatever the differences between Cybertronian and Unicronians, it seemed there wouldn’t be any lasting effects from the attack. It was fortunate, as he had actually been worried for his…his… _sparkling._ He tasted out the word for a moment, and then flinched.

Starscream was trying hard not to get attached. Decepticons do not get attached. It was a weakness, and weakness was death. Things could still go wrong. Things could _always_ go wrong.

Then his internal comm pinged. Megatron’s demanding voice intruded on his peaceful shower. “Where is Prime?!”

“I left him in front of the base. He had just finished defeating Cyclonus’ sweep minions when I was pulled away.” Starscream grumbled at him, still annoyed with his pit-spawned glitch of a leader.

"This slag would never happen if I were leader," Starscream muttered to himself.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Starscream snapped, “He should be out front with the rest of them.”

“He is not, Starscream! What orders did you give him? He must obey, do you understand? What exactly did you tell him to do?”

“The last thing I said was-” and Starscream almost choked as his clever mind filled in the blanks and neatly solved the mystery, but recovered himself just in time. “-stay at the front of the base while I deal with Cyclonus.”

Megatron snarled and killed the comm connection.

“Oh frag.” Starscream whispered.


	17. Free Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prime flees from Megatron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Google “Hawaii lava tube” for an idea of the type of tunnels Prime is in.
> 
> Warning: mentions of non-con sticky sex. Plot chapter, no real smut, sorry.
> 
> The last scene with Prime was written with "The Last Man" By Clint Mansell playing in the background. Also, sorry but it starts going downhill at the end of this chapter. Sad ending warning begins. Only a few chapters left.

Miles away from the Decepticon base, a blue and red Peterbilt truck joyfully threw himself off a cliff.

Optimus Prime transformed half way down and grabbed at protrusions and outcroppings here and there to slow his decent. His pedes skidded down the steep wall as he tried to keep from hurting himself. When he finally reached the rocky bottom, his hands slammed into the dirt and puffs of cloudy gray dust swirled around his pedes.

Optimus got to his feet and took a moment to look up at the cliffs, now so far above him.

Somewhere in the distance, two jets were fighting. In that same instant one fighter landed a critical hit on the other and razor sharp denta bared in wicked assurance of victory even as the fight took them further and further away from the safety of the Decepticon base.

Starscream was on his own now.

It had taken Optimus a bit of time to reach the bottom, and down here the light was very dim, just as he remembered. The bottom of the crevasse was coated in fine grit and plenty wide enough for a heavy rig truck to travel comfortably.

Optimus trained his gaze down the long and twisted crevasse floor and recalled the coordinates Ratchet had carved into the rock.

 _That location is four days away if I am careful to avoid the Decepticons and Sweep patrols,_ he considered. Being careful would involve taking side tunnels and making sure to avoid open air crevasses like the one he was currently in. Any flight mech passing overhead would be sure to see him. But he had no intention of taking that long. He needed to find Ratchet. He wanted his Autobots.

Optimus logged the coordinates into his internal HUD, transformed, and gunned his engine. He turned and roared off towards the location Ratchet had indicated, caution be damned.

 _Fast and furious it is,_ he decided, and his spark pulsed with excitement. It felt so good to move after being locked up in the Decepticon base for so long. The dirty grit billowing out under the spin of his tires was pure joy. His panels rattled and his plating shook as he took the corners of the crevasse far too quickly, but he didn’t slow.

Exhilaration for his freedom kept him reckless.

The slave coding remained silent, and even seemed approving for how well he was following the order he'd been given. Optimus found himself huffing in amusement at the thought.

Starscream’s last order rang in his audials, even as he coaxed just a little more speed out of his engine. He did feel a little twinge of remorse for leaving Starscream mid-battle. If not for the capricious jet, he wouldn’t have had this chance to free himself.

Starscream had almost acted friendly towards him at times, and Optimus had latched on to those glimmers of kindness. He couldn’t find any anger in his spark for Starscream, but even if he wanted to stay he couldn’t: Optimus had been ordered away by the Air Commander (his mistake was not indicating exactly where he should be fragging off to and for how long) and he couldn't fly anyway. He hoped Starscream made it out okay, even as vicious and vindictive as he could be.

In the back of his mind he was also worried about that would happen when the slave coding made him need his master. But he pushed those concerns away; there was nothing he could do about them that he would be willing to do.

 _I will find my Autobots first,_ he decided. _Then I will worry about everything else._

He glanced at the internal chronometer in his HUD as he took another corner at high speed, realizing it had been an hour since he had thrown himself off the cliff.  If today had gone differently, five hours from now Megatron would walk through the door of their shared quarters for the evening.

 _He will not find me there tonight,_ he thought as a deep anxiety within his spark eased. _I will not be there waiting for him to inflict whatever domination games he has dreamt up during the day._

Optimus unconsciously increased his reckless speed as his mind wandered over those uneasy memories.

Most of Megatron’s games had involved forced care, feedings, and invasive touches and scenarios ending in sensual contact. They always lead to interfacing in some way or another.

The interface he had endured that morning had started with them on the floor with him splayed in Megatron’s lap, open and exposed. He was ordered to play with himself, supposedly so Megatron could see how he liked to be taken. A feverishly aroused Megatron had petted the plating on Optimus’ inner thighs with electromagnetically charged servos while he watched.

Then Megatron had retaken control, replacing Optimus' lubricant-drenched fingers with his own, spreading his captive’s valve with thick fingers and slipping in. He had taken his time. His captive’s array had been stroked and teased and played with until he was further sopping with lubricants, little puddles under his aft testament to his intense, unwilling pleasure. It had ended with him kneeling and being taken on the floor, over and over again. He was deeply embarrassed for how wet he had been, for how his body had shivered, how his cries had echoed around the room.

Megatron _was_ paying attention and getting better at stimulating his frame.

The encounter had ended with a bowl of warm fluid and various oils and medication. They were placed next to him and with a soft rag his captor had thoroughly bathed his entire array. Care after interfacing was always provided and always gentle. Possessive servos checked over him and he was left cleaned and with soothing oil applied to his valve, his calipers carefully checked for damage. His spike was carefully medicated and released back into its sheath.

Megatron didn’t seem to think much of these intrusions, and Optimus had slowly come to realize that Megatron honestly believed he was doing right by his captive. He seemed to believe that because it was his body Optimus needed, that somehow his captive shouldn’t be embarrassed or ashamed. That what they were doing was merely needed play; shared intimacy instead of coercive sexual slavery.

That dominance meant he could do as he pleased and Optimus should be grateful for his new leader’s attentions. The few times he had dared to explain the difference Megatron had merely scoffed and told him he was too sensitive. Megatron expected not only submission, but gratitude and sometimes when he grew frustrated he took it from his captive by force.

It grated on Optimus, ground him down.

 _There will be no little games, no interfacing tonight,_ he realized with relief and his spark lifted within him. _I will be sleeping alone. I am free._ He pushed thoughts of the past away. His depression was still there, but greatly eased by his freedom of movement. Having control over his own frame again was doing wonders for his spark and he sucked in a deep breath, filling his ventilation systems with the dirty grit-filled air. It tasted sweet to him.

Then Optimus drove as hard as he could while keeping an optic on the distant sky above him. The Decepticons would be sure to come looking when they realize he was missing.

 _Megatron would never allow me to leave if he had any say in it,_ Optimus knew. _He will come looking for me._ He needed to be well beyond their territory and underground as quickly as possible. Fortunately it wasn’t long before the trench grew deeper, and the channel became a gaping, dark tunnel. He turned on his headlights and plunged into the darkness.

 _There is little chance of Starscream’s armada finding me now._ He felt a rush of relief as the open air gave way to a stifling underground.

 

* * *

 

It turned out that Prime was not the only mech missing from the battle.

When the head count had come back, Swindle and Divebomb were also missing, presumed defeated and dragged away by the Sweeps. Megatron had immediately sent the Armada back out looking for the lost Decepticons. He quickly formed his own search party as the seekers urgently assembled to search for their lost brothers.

They roared back out in a search pattern, heedless of their exhaustion and injuries. It was a far deviation from the old routine, which said that if you were strong then you would make it back yourself (or your teammate or trine dragged you back to safety). Concern for the fallen and dedicated search parties were uncommon. But Megatron had abolished that old policy and no one was abandoned or left behind. No one was simply left to the whims of fate or assumed too damaged to bother with saving. Instead the Decepticons all joined in the search for the missing.

Everyone but Starscream and Thrust, who were both too injured to fly.

Megatron took Onslaught and Brawl with him and went searching for any sign of his missing Autobot. The grim-faced Decepticons finally picked up his trail and then tracked him to the edge of a very deep crevasse and over, finding pede tracks and then tire tracks at the bottom as the mech had fled.

Megatron was furious as it soon became clear that Prime had not been taken, but was actively trying to escape, and he resolved to give chase. The Decepticons gunned their flight-adapted engines, flying hard as they searched.

Night was coming.

 

* * *

 

The tunnels varied, lifting and dropping and weaving and winding as they meandered, the cold remnants of ancient lava tubes deepened by the movement of small streams of proto-fuel over the eons. Made of a light and porous rock that crumbled easily, they were shot through with many small air shafts leading to the surface above, allowing dim light and sputtering proto-fuel waterfalls to filter down.

The lava flows had been immense back at the dawn of existence, hinting of the violent birth this world had endured. The tunnels were wide in many places, and it wasn’t hard for Optimus to keep up speed.

Optimus kept moving, avoiding transforming as much as possible to conserve his energy. He drove as far as he could that first evening, his headlights cutting through the dark of the underground, until the temperature began to rapidly drop, signaling the coming of night and its dangerous cold. He didn’t want to rest. He had spent enough time on his back plating. He wanted to keep moving, but he knew better then to let the weather have its way with him.

Optimus would most certainly lose.

He was forced to stop for the night after finding a likely looking shelter. A rock from the ceiling had collapsed against the lava tube wall making a small, enclosed lean-to and he tucked himself inside of it.

Optimus didn’t dare dig a hole and cover himself like he had when he rescued Megatron. While it worked well enough with two frames (as staying out of the wind was important for the chill factor) without the warm second frame to help trap heat between them, over time the ground would become a grave instead of a shelter, sucking heat away instead of helping conserve it.

Optimus pulled his supplies out of his subspace and wrapped the thermal blanket around his abdominals and as much of his upper body as he could. He didn’t bother fueling yet, as his energy levels were still high, and instead he squirreled the fuel away for later.

He jumped in his plating when he heard booming sounds far above, strong enough to echo through the cracks of the tunnel ceiling.

 _Thunder,_ he realized. _It is storming outside. Perfect. Any search parties will be called off for certain._

Many of the natural cracks and vent holes in the ceiling above him lead to the night sky. Within moments they began dripping and trickling down fluid as the skies opened up and began one of their frequent deluges. Another massive crack of thunder resounded above him, the force of it traveling through the rocky ceiling above his head, adding bass to the cadence of dripping and splattering fluid.

Optimus was once again thankful to be safe underground as he settled in for the long night.

 

* * *

 

The Decepticon search party had no luck, and with the falling evening came the return of the terrible cold. Angry storm clouds gathered above, and Megatron and his search party were forced to return to their base as night fell.

The armada search party returned shortly thereafter, with freezing wings and empty hands. Megatron was furious to hear of the losses as each individual soldier counted far more now than they ever had during the war. But he could not find fault with the Armada.

Megatron dismissed them with orders to rest; they would be back out to search again in the morning. Then he commed Starscream and ordered him to the medbay.

The storm heralded itself with deafening peals of thunder as Megatron strode towards the medbay to meet Starscream, and the furious rain began to pelt the ship. The raging fury outside was a match for how Megatron was feeling. Furious for the loss of Prime, he wanted nothing more then to beat the ever loving spark out of Starscream for his failures.

However, duty came first. Always second were Megatron's own personal desires. He knew needed Starscream repaired and flight ready; Starscream was one of his strongest, most skilled warriors. He also knew that Starscream would not go to Hook for repairs without him there.

Starscream arrived shortly after, limping in for his repair appointment. He was clean and looked vastly better. All traces of shaking and distress were gone, and his EM fields were partially extended, tasting of calm, calculating distance and threat.

The primary source of his ire was standing before him, and Hook was readying his crude external instruments while standing next to a ratty medical berth. The best of their available tools were all internal - built into Hook's frame - now extended ominous and waiting.

The second source of concern was looming off to the side; a regal warlord with narrowed red optics, his fields held tightly to his silver plating. Megatron was very, very displeased with him. Starscream scowled furiously at both mechs and trained his null rays on the crazy glitch while keeping an eye on his furious leader. Starscream's wings were flared in threat and above them, another peal of thunder boomed and the ship walls around them shuddered and rattled.

“Starscream,” Megatron frowned at him. “You promised not to give me any trouble.” _Please,_ he thought, _give me trouble. Give me just one more reason to lay a hand on your plating tonight._

“Oh I assure you, if I intended trouble, this miserable glitch would already be dead.” Starscream sneered at said glitch, which just smiled back at him and waved. “Leader,” Starscream added after the fact, making a show of being respectful.

 _He may not give me what I want,_ and Megatron’s frown deepened. _He is not so foolish._

“I want you to tell me everything that happened after I left,” Megatron ordered him. “Tell me everything that Prime said and did.” He gestured to Hook to get on with the repairs as Starscream grudgingly laid himself out on the medical berth.

Hook got to work, and Megatron grabbed the syringe he was just about to plunge into Starscream, and carefully checked the contents. Correct dosage of pain killer. Megatron indicated for Hook to proceed.

Starscream huffed at Megatron while eyeing the needle menacingly as Hook plunged the injector into one of the energon lines in his damaged heel turbine.

“I already told you,” Starscream said, his tone both sullen and rebellious. “I ordered him to stay at the base entrance while I fought Cyclonus. I was pulled away from the base during the fight. I didn’t see what happened to Prime after that, for obvious reasons.”

Hook started to work, taking apart the damaged components while both Decepticon Commanders eyed him suspiciously.

Then Starscream leaned in aggressively, every line a threat in match to Megatron’s own belligerence. “If you had arrived within a reasonable span after I commed you, this wouldn’t have happened. I was only kept away from the base for so long because of _your_ incompetence.”

Sometimes the best defense was a good offense.

Megatron snarled at that and took a step toward Starscream, but Hook grunted at him, his fingers tangled up in the damaged turbine. “Hey. I’m working here,” Hook said.

“Shut up.” Both commanders snarled the command at him simultaneously, and then turned and eyed each other.

Megatron leaned back in irritation. _Starscream does have a point,_ although he would never admit it.

Normally he wouldn’t let Starscream try to defend himself like this; he was too good with that clever glossa. For the Decepticons, only results really mattered. 'Cons that rose high in the ranks did so by proving themselves competent and consistently successful at their tasks and command, and being clever enough to cover themselves when they inevitably failed at something. Asking for details was rather pointless; he knew Starscream would simply lie to him to cover his own stabilizers. Starscream had lost his Autobot, which was a result of his clear incompetence.

They should be mid-beating right now, and he knew that Starscream knew it. Only Starscream's injuries were keeping Megatron’s fists at bay. “What did he say to you?” Megatron asked with a growl, forced by circumstances to continue this charade of an interrogation. “Did he give any indication he intended to escape?”

“None,” Starscream said, answering every one of Megatron’s questions carefully, wings held up proud and earnest now, as if he was just as confused and upset as his leader was. “We didn’t speak. He was fighting with the Sweeps that Cyclonus had brought with him.”

Extending his fields to brush against Megatron, Starscream shared his own concern across that very flared and so very angry silver plating. Technically that concern he was projecting was for his own plating, but EM fields only conveyed basic emotions and not the subtleties of them, so there was no way Megatron could tell the difference.

Starscream could tell he was making headway when Megatron subconsciously smoothed his plating a little closer to himself. He could talk his way out of anything if given half the chance. He didn’t slip up in his arguments and he gave Megatron nothing to work with.

Megatron’s vocalizer remained harsh with accusation. He might have punished Starscream anyway for failing to properly keep an eye on his captive, but after what had happened during the battle and its aftermath, he didn’t feel at liberty to indulge himself… yet. It had taken him far too long to re-engage with Galvatron. Only he held the strength necessary to stand up to that glitching powerhouse, and everyone knew it. Every moment he didn’t keep the barbarian busy was one of his mechs taking serious damage.

Megatron was forced to pay more attention to the medical procedure then, when Hook forgot himself and brushed his cutting tool against a sleek white wing and Starscream lunged for the Constructicon’s throat.

After the surgery was complete, Starscream successfully limped away, untouched. Still furious, Megatron strode to his throne to brood for an hour, and then finally returned to his quarters for the night.

 

* * *

 

Nervous blue optics peered out from under the makeshift cave entrance, darting here and there, for many hours after night had fallen.

Optimus was very tense tonight.

Time passed slowly for him as the storm passed over. Slowly the thunder lessened and then faded into the distance. As more time passed and the night remained calm, his mind finally began to ease. He refused to admit it to himself, but he'd grown used to sleeping with a larger, warmer build wrapped around him.

Thankfully the dark tunnels remained clear. There were no sign of enemies. Finally he settled back, comforted, and tried to cycle down to recharge.

But he had trouble sleeping that night while nestled down in the makeshift shelter he'd found for himself. It was not for the lethal cold that the blanket only barely kept at bay or the depression that was trying but failing to smother him under a cloud of anxiety and worry.

Optimus couldn’t cycle down because his spark was beating so joyfully in his chest.

Tension for the future chased around and around after the elation in his frame for the joy of the present, never overcoming the spark-tingling happiness that freedom wrought. Surrounded by blessed solitude, there was no fear of domination games or interfacing tonight. The giddy feeling of freedom pushed back at his depression and the exhilaration made his dim plating flare, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Ratchet and his Autobots. He was on his way, with nothing to stop him now.

Nothing but the dangerous night, anyway.

Optimus was frustrated with the delay but hope soothed away even that negative feeling. Taking mental stock of his situation, he found it better than he could have expected. He had plenty of energy in his fuel tanks to reach the coordinates, the thermal blanket would ensure he survived the bitter nights, and for the first time in months he felt like a free mech.

Optimus huffed, and then in-vented and wrapped his arms more tightly around himself as he waited for dawn as he must. _I will die before I give this up,_ he promised himself as his mind began to drift away.

Finally his engine cycled down and his mind fully settled, and he lost himself to a peaceful recharge.

 

* * *

 

The first night alone had been miserable.

Megatron was so used to having Prime’s quiet and compliant company that his quarters had seemed twice as large and twice as bare to him.

Megatron sat at his small table, drinking his nightly rations and thinking. Many hours after he would normally be wrapped around Prime and deep in recharge, his berth remained empty. Instead, the looming emptiness found him still awake, still lost in thought. Finally, he scoffed at himself in disgust and strode towards his berth, settling down with a huff.

Megatron laid himself out with his hands folded under his helm, and was uncomfortably cold. He rejected pulling out any thermal blankets to compensate for his loss. _I am not so pathetic,_ he snarled at himself. The ship provided just enough shelter on its own that he was in no danger of deactivating. In his quarters the cold was merely uncomfortable.

He forced himself to relax and settled on to his side, and then he rolled onto his front. He was accustomed now to the other body, the soft ventilations and whispering engine and gentle warmth. No position felt right. He was an old soldier and simply ignored the discomfort, but the absence was keenly felt all the same. He realized he had gotten far too used to having Prime there, that second thrumming engine trapping heat between them, sleeping entwined and comfortable. His spark wanted for the other, and he didn’t like the feeling. It felt…weak.

_Perhaps this is for the best... he was a consuming distraction for me._

He still had Starscream after all. _I will have to be more vigilant of my favorites,_ he decided. This planet was a complete disaster…a dismal place filled with angry, hateful beings. Good company was scarce and to be treasured.

Recharge was long in coming.

Megatron finally drifted off, only to discover that the other was waiting for him in his dreams.

 

* * *

 

It had rained all night, washing away most of the evidence of Prime’s escape route. Megatron and his carefully selected search team set out early that morning, but it wasn’t long until they completely lost Prime’s trail.

Megatron had come back from that second search empty-handed and even more frustrated.

The Armada, charged with trying to locate Divebomb and Swindle, also came back with nothing to show for their efforts. They had stayed out longer then ordered and had searched hard, but they finally winged home as well. The disappointment was clearly written across drooping wings as they landed in the flight hatch, split off and settled in for the evening.

It was assumed at this point the three mechs were well and truly lost.

The loss of Divebomb and Swindle both was a little more of a blow than usual for the ‘cons. Swindle had a light build and a pretty face, and he had contacts all throughout the the mechs surrounding him. He was easy going and enjoyed the attentions of both flight frames and grounders and he never spent a night alone. He greatly enjoyed valve play of all types and was also up for multiple mechs at a time if properly bribed and adored (he was the best fueled mech in the base, and he liked to keep it that way).

Divebomb was the exact opposite, but everybody knew what he was packing, and the fun of flirtation and the excitement of fleeing the resulting beatings that followed all teasing and offers had kept interest in him high, much to his annoyance. He'd stuck next to Headstrong for the most part, and both beastformers slept together each night, tucked in beast mode in a warm pile of Predacon limbs.

Both Decepticons had left their marks in their own way, and they were keenly missed by all.

Megatron knew how his moping soldiers felt.

The day passed quickly and another evening approached; another night spent lost in thought and bored out of his processer, thinking over and over of his loss. Megatron was furious with Starscream, furious with himself.

 _I should have tied him down,_ he berated himself. _I should have been more careful._ He hadn’t thought it necessary. Prime needed him, needed his body to survive. He didn’t think his berth mate was even capable of escaping him.

Megatron sat at the small table in the mostly empty room and thought it through. Prime shouldn’t have been able to leave, he concluded. It simply shouldn’t have been possible.

Starscream was still the likely culprit here.

Megatron commed the jet and ordered him to come to his quarters and have a little chat. Not like he had anything else to do tonight. The empty room felt hollow as he waited.

…

Starscream had started to avoid his leader again (and Soundwave for some reason which no one understood, least of all the communications officer himself) and Starscream knew he seemed unusually defensive, though he furiously insisted he was not at fault.

Normally he would have just provoked his own punishment and gotten it over with by now. He knew he was at fault. But he was trying to avoid any more severe punishment frags, if only for the sake of the smaller spark he was carrying. All of the beatings he had been taking lately couldn’t be healthy, and he still had a helm ache from the blows Galvatron had inflicted upon him.

Megatron remained a storm cloud though, and Starscream wasn’t surprised when he was commed and ordered to Megatron's personal quarters regarding the matter of a certain lost Autobot that evening.

Starscream was currently walking down the corridor towards Megatron’s quarters. He was cleaned up and repaired, and lost in thought. He was working through his mind the best way to spin his mistake and cover his aft.

Starscream knew he really needed to take better care of himself now that he wasn’t alone.

He walked down the middle of the corridor as was his wont, and the other Decepticons instinctively moved out of his way. Not a wingtip was brushed, his personal space respected to the ninth degree. Mechs gestured respectfully to him, and his armada flared their wings with respect as they passed. He ignored them all, but they all knew better then to ignore _him._

It was good to be in the upper echelons of command.

…

Headstrong knew the unspoken rule of _respect the Air Commander or else_ just as well as the others, and he stepped to the side without thinking as Starscream strode by. He was also lost in thought; troubled over the fate of his old team mate, now presumed deactivated.

But as the Air Commander passed him, a waft of scent met his sensitive nasal sensors.

As a Predacon, he possessed a keen sense of smell, and many, many little pieces of information could be gleaned about a mech from the scent trails and eddies left behind in his wake. A mech’s scent could tell if he was well fueled or hungry, if his systems were stressed or steady, what kind of fuel he had last consumed, now-defunct heat cycles, when he had last fragged and who it had been.

Headstrong noted all the normal scents and a more recent addition of a mix of internal fluid and Unicronian fluids, probably from the last battle.

But there was something else…

Headstrong sniffed discreetly as he passed, and then stopped dead in his tracks, and sniffed again, a longer, slightly louder inhalation, blowing the particles over his sensors more carefully, seeking to confirm what his nasal sensors had just told him. There was a scent wafting from Starscream that he hadn’t smelled in a very long time, a very special scent, a tale-tell mix of building nanites and gestational trans-amniotic fluid.

 _What the frag,_ he thought, stunned. _I thought we were all sterile?_ And then his spark dropped as he heard the Air Commander’s pede steps come to a sudden halt as well.

Headstrong peeked back over his shoulder, and was startled to meet Starscream’s razor sharp gaze from over him shoulder, his optics flashing brilliantly.

Then the Predacon recognized Starscream’s deceptively lovely smile and flinched.

Starscream crossed the space between them in a flash and viciously threw the Predacon against the wall, his wing blade held up and its razor sharp edge pressed against Headstrong’s main energon line in his neck, all in one instant.

The Predacon was shocked for the sheer speed of the attack.

Then Starscream smiled sweetly, wings flared and denta bared, and he touched the edge of his wing blade ever so gently against the pulsing fuel line in the other mech’s neck. Headstrong flinched as he felt the trickle of his own energon as it dripped over the wing blade pressed nastily to his main line and coughed, softly.

The Air Commander chose his next words carefully, mindful that Soundwave had been loose in the base and it was just a matter of time before every single surface was covered with listening devices. It was best to assume everything he said now was being monitored.

“Is there a problem, Headstrong?” _I know that you know._

“Frag no,” the Predacon said, swallowing carefully. “I don’t know what you are talking about Commander Starscream. I swear to Primus.” _Sorry! Sorry!_

“Just checking, Headstrong. You know I would just hate it if we were going to have a problem. You just returned to us, and it would be so sad to lose you again.” _You will keep your mouth shut or I will shut it for you._

Headstrong stared straight into Starscream’s vicious red optics and sweet poisonous smile and answered him, emphasizing each word carefully. “There is no problem, Commander Starscream. I swear it.” _Not a word! Please don’t kill me!_

“Oh that’s so good to hear. It better stay that way, Predacon, for your sake.” _Don’t think I won’t. You know I would enjoy it, ground pounder._

Then Starscream winked and let him up with a cheerful flick of his wings.

Turning on his shapely heel, the Air Commander continued down the corridor as if nothing had happened.

Headstrong watched him leave, optics wide in alarm. He was a simple mech, not prone to deep thinking and he didn’t want any secrets. Keeping secrets caused problems, and he wasn’t very good at it.

But the Predacon resolved to forget about the scent still wafting by, left by Starscream while striding away from him seemingly without a care in the world. He didn’t understand what the problem was, or why Starscream was so upset over something most mechs would be delighted over. But he did know one thing.

No one crossed Air Commander Starscream.

…

Half of Megatron’s dangerous anger eased away when his Starscream promptly arrived at his summons. Megatron noted a trickle of internal fluid down his second’s wing blade, proof that his normally competent sub-commander was hard at work keeping the homicidal glitches that comprised his army in line. Starscream’s wings were canted proudly, brilliant red optics glowing confidently, and every other line of his body was clearly aching. Galvatron’s attack had been vicious, and some of Megatron's anger lessened at the sight of his injuries.

The other half of Megatron was still furious at the loss of Prime, and that part of him was resolute.

He wanted the truth.

Megatron fixed him with a friendly, dangerous smile and gestured at the chair across from him. He pushed one of Prime’s two cubes at the beleaguered jet as he sat down, while he took the other. The clever glitch initially narrowed his optics at his leader, but then Starscream’s eyes lit up at the sight of the extra ration, split between them tonight.

 _Friendly at the start, and we will see how the talk progresses,_ Megatron decided. Damaged or not, he was going to smack the glitch around tonight if he was responsible.

There was simply no excuse for losing someone as helpless as his enslaved Autobot.

…

 _He is going to sweet talk me first,_ Starscream realized.

The mood would seem companionable to an outside observer, but Starscream was keenly aware of the threat in the air. He prepared himself for the mental battle to come and set his still-sore heel turbine off to the side. There was no way he was admitting to Megatron how badly he had messed up and cost his leader his precious frag toy. He'd all but practically ordered Prime to escape.

 _That was damned stupid of me,_ and Starscream was honestly embarrassed. He knew he really did deserve a sound thrashing for his unspeakable incompetence. Frag, he wouldn't have hesitated to discipline one of his own flight mechs for such a stupid mistake.

Prime couldn’t even _feed_ himself without Megatron holding the cube for him.

Making a show of being grateful, Starscream inclined his head at his leader and took the cube. “I take it this is Prime’s ration.” Frag him twice, he really could use the extra energy tonight.

Starscream still had no idea what he was going to do when the newspark was to be born as he was only barely staying ahead of Soundwave. He kept his optics open for something, anything he could use as bribery or blackmail against the spy. Direct threats would work for the rank and file, but not for High Command. Fortunately it was a long process, this business of creating life. There was still plenty of time yet to work something out. Assuming he could keep away from the telepath long enough to get some dirt on him.

“Tell me everything you said to him. I want to know what happened,” Megatron’s cultured vocalizer broke through his wandering thoughts and booked no argument. Starscream was worried for his own plating, but he couldn’t deny the first twinges of an electric tingle in his array as he beheld the silver glitch-lord across from him. He found Megatron so damned… _attractive_ when he was furiously angry.

It was an attraction that didn’t do much for the sanctity of his plating. He found himself unintentionally admiring his leader’s handsome form. His sliver plating was slightly flared, and his engine was running warm with anger. Fear for the beating he might receive tonight mingled with the anticipation of the good hard frag he was hoping for instead, which further blended with worry for the smaller spark he carried.

“I already told you,” Starscream lied seamlessly, “I told him to stay at the front of the base while I dealt with Cyclonus.”

Megatron lunged across the table and grabbed him by the throat.

“That seems unlikely, Starscream,” Megatron snarled, giving the sleek throat plating a warning squeeze and getting right up into Starscream's face plates. “How could he have escaped now, when he has had multiple opportunities before and never taken them?” Megatron's heated ex-vents were sweetened with the faintest scent of energon.

Starscream inhaled deeply and then replied.

“I don’t appreciate the implication, oh mighty leader.” Starscream scowled at him, showing sharp white denta and actually leaning in closer. “Who knows what Prime was up to? You know he had some sort of plan. He was subspacing small pieces of metal for days. This escape was obviously the result of it.”

 _Prime did have a plan, that part is true,_ Starscream knew and he was banking on it. The best lies held grains of truth to prop them up. And when in doubt, blame the mech that wasn’t there to defend himself.

It was a sound strategy.

…

Megatron glowered at that. Then he released Starscream’s throat, however reluctantly.

 _It is true,_ he thought, sitting back with a furious scowl. _Damn me to the pit. I should have looked into it more closely._ Prime _had_ been up to something, and Megatron regretted not following up with him on it. He'd been far too excited for the challenge.

Megatron glowered at the accomplished liar sitting so smugly across from him. He wanted to just skip straight to the _smacking the glitch around_ part, but plausible deniability was in play here, and the Air Commander was a model Decepticon. Hence: accomplished liar. And Starscream was too damaged for the beating he so obviously deserved. There was currently no way Megatron could prove Starscream was lying to him.

Not yet, anyway.

“Calm down, seriously.” Starscream interrupted his angry thoughts, doing everything he could to forestall the furious beating he knew was looming ever closer but that he couldn’t afford anymore. “He can’t stay away for too long. By tomorrow he will start feeling the controlling effect of the slave coding. It will offline him if he doesn’t return to you.”

“Mmh. What do you know of it?” Megatron asked, cautiously hopeful. He took a drink of his energon while watching Starscream settle himself and savor his cube.

“I know that it mimics a fever, and grows progressively stronger day by day,” Starscream said. “You have already seen that. It was just starting to kick in when Hook attacked him.”

“Yes,” Megatron murmured. The strange fever had lifted as soon as he was able to interface properly with Prime. He had been so enamored with his captive that there had been no further trace of that control mechanism at all, and he had stopped having to check Prime’s temperature. Stopped needing to check it yes, but he still did on occasion. He loved the flicker of vulnerable embarrassment through Prime’s EM fields, his shuttered optics, and the way he clung to his tattered dignity regardless. He knew Prime hated the probing just as much as Megatron loved running his fingers over Prime’s soft, delicate glossa.

 _Too bad. I enjoy it and does him no harm._ His servos flexed unconsciously, remembering the feel of the other. He felt another twinge of loss, and then realized his panels were heating up at the thought. He felt a jag of frustration when he realized how much he really missed his quiet Autobot.

“How many days will he have,” Megatron asked, “before he must return?”

 _Assuming he doesn’t let himself offline like he has been threatening,_ Megatron thought, and frowned. It was so insulting, so infuriating to him that living with him was considered worse than death by his berth mate.

“I know he will have three days from the last time you interfaced before it kicks in, less if he fights you. If he is cooperative it takes three days without you before the coding starts getting serious. I know that by day five it can be lethal but it depends on the mech. Some make it for a full week.”

Starscream frowned as the last of the words left his vocalizer and then he looked away.

The slave coding was inherently cruel, he knew. It turned sentient mechs into playthings; toys to be used and discarded. It wasn’t used too widely back during the days of the senate, as into the civilized era such mechs were expensive and not everyone could afford such luxury. Abuse was inherent in its creation and use. It had long fallen out of favor during the height of the Golden Age, but up to Starscream’s creation, code slaves were not completely unheard of. Most of the Autobot senate members owned at least one each, if not more. Starscream had killed most of the members of the senate himself, all without a qualm.

Abolishing the vile practice along with Empurata was part of the promises of change they had made when they first formed the Decepticon faction to topple the corrupt senate, so long ago. Keeping Prime and using him in this state was very much a betrayal of their own ideals. He hadn’t cared, he really hadn’t, but spending time around the enslaved mech sometimes made his spark flinch.

The uncomfortable sensation was short-lived though, there and gone. Starscream had his own problems. He returned his attention to the vicious bastard across from him, currently frowning into his energon cube.

Megatron was thinking over Starscream’s words. _After a week then, I will know he is gone._ The thought was not comforting. Megatron’s spark lurched painfully in his chamber.

Then his engine rumbled as Starscream’s thigh bumped his leg under the table. He raised his helm in surprise, and the glitch smiled at him suggestively, tip of his undamaged pede mischievously nudging at the still heated panel between his legs.

Megatron raised a brow ridge at him. _Really? I know how you are injured._

Starscream tilted his helm and snorted. _When has that ever stopped you?_

Megatron narrowed his optics slightly. _How could you even enjoy it?_

Starscream scoffed and pressed his good turbine heel down harder. _I want it so I will enjoy it._

Megatron knew that was true. He was well aware that Starscream enjoyed it rough. But still.

Starscream could tell he was unconvinced and activated his heel turbine on the lowest setting. The vibrations began to further heat Megatron's array. Then he splayed his own shapely legs out in proof, and Megatron blinked as he saw a glimmer of lubricant on Starscream's inner thigh.

Starscream grinned and his turbine up-ticked a notch. _I told you I want it. So give it to me._

Megatron reached down and gripped the intruding heel and held it in a strong, threatening grip. He wasn’t amused and he certainly wasn’t going to take the other  with his valve as scraped up as he knew it had to be. And yet when his servo enclosed around Starscream’s heel, his fields and Starscream’s touched, and he glanced up at Starscream, honestly surprised at the arousal he felt pouring off the other.

Starscream held his startled gaze and returned it with a viciously playful one of his own. _Told you._

 _This won’t save you when I finally get the truth,_ and Megatron scowled at him. 

Starscream just smiled back, his expression confident and unworried. _Would I lie to you?_

Right about this point Megatron realized that Starscream probably intended to distract him from the conversation and wondered how badly of a mistake it would be to invite the glitch to stay the night. _Very bad,_ his processor assured him. He wasn't sure how well he was hiding how attached he was to his new berth mate. _Attachment is weakness, and this beautiful glitch means to be my eventual death._

Fortunately for his overheated panels, Megatron did not fear death.

 

* * *

 

When it was very young, their new home world had been extremely volcanically active. The cave systems and lava tubes are extensive and planet wide. Seen from orbit, its dark gray surface is pitted from cracks and looks like the entire world had been punched repeatedly by some ancient primitive god.

Optimus traveled down one such deep crack early the next morning, the miles flying by beneath his tires. He arrived a mile out from the coordinates, having made good time and with no signs of Unicronian or Decepticon patrols.

Almost immediately he saw a small glyph scratched into a rock face, left by one of his faction. He worked his way down into a deep cavern, following the lightly scratched glyphs, finally recognizing Jazz’s lazy scrawl.

Optimus took the corners recklessly, not even checking for enemies as he should. He was certain he was getting close. His spark pulsed with need and longing. He ached for normal interaction, to be surrounded by friends. If only he could recharge with them tonight, fields entwined.

The truck-former could offline happy then, if it came to that.

Optimus followed the direction the glyph suggested, and the tunnel continued to deepen, finally ending in a rocky cavern with several small winding passages, small streams of proto-fuel having cut passages flowing in and out of it. A large pool was in the center, with stalagmites pitted all around it. There were some cracks here and there in the cavern ceiling, leading to the bottom of a crevasse running over it above, allowing light to enter. Dim, but bright enough to move around in comfort.

This was where his Autobots had been living, hiding, waiting for his return, he realized. The coordinates were dead on.

The cavern was perfect for habitation, he saw, and it had definitely been used by his mechs as such. Some of the loose rocks had been piled up to make makeshift rooms and areas for privacy, useful for recharging or an interface, the interactions doubtlessly hushed so to not disturb those around them.

One smooth flat rock had been knocked over and laid out as a table, with smaller rocks clustered around it for chairs.

Six chairs for six survivors. Jazz, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ironhide, and himself had been the only survivors of the last Unicronian attack, back when Prime was a free mech. He hadn’t seen this shelter before as his surviving handful of Autobots must have found it after he and Ratchet had been taken. He walked over to the makeshift table and laid his palm flat on it. He could almost hear the echoes of their chatter; Bumblebee’s easy laugh and Jazz’s endless jokes, Bluestreak’s constant chatter, and Ironhide’s huffing grumbles.

There was a larger chair, a rock bigger than the others. It stood out at the edge of the middle of the table, at a position of honor. He knew in his spark they had intended it for him. They had believed he would return to them, even until the end.

For this is where the end had found them.

His Autobot’s cavern shelter felt very welcoming, except for the razor sharp slashes cut into the ground and along the walls. He stepped forward towards the makeshift rooms and stared at the scene in front of him, his processor slowly and painfully putting together what had happened here.

The sweeps had attacked, probably at dawn, before his Autobots had been fully awake. They must have thought they had lost Galvatron’s troops, they must have thought they were safe. Most of the violence had occurred in one of the crude rooms. They would have been nestled together for warmth to ward away the dangerous chill of the night.

They would have still been recovering from the attack that had taken Prime and Ratchet from them. They would have all been wounded; all weakened from captivity on the prison ship and the injuries inflicted day after day during the constant Sweep attacks.

There was Bluestreak’s rifle, completely destroyed, laying in a massive pool of dried internal fluid. A piece of red plating, and lying against a wall was Jazz’s shattered visor. There were four such large pools, now dried up and peeling. The internal fluid was scraped across the floor, as if four bodies had been allowed to bleed out, and then dragged heedlessly through their own fluids. One of the dragged bodies had left streaks of yellow paint behind.

Bumblebee, he knew.

The bloody drag marks continued halfway across the cavern and then fade to only scrape marks, the bodies having been bled dry, the dead metal dragging forlornly over softer stone until scraped clean of internal fluid. The metal scrape marks continue on and then out of the cavern, no doubt taken to the sky above and reborn into Galvatron’s mindless drones.

 _Have I encountered them already,_ he wondered, listlessly. _Some of the Sweeps I destroyed, were they the converted shells of my lost Autobots?_

Optimus’ spark felt strange inside him. Heavy. All the joy in his being drained from him, even the delight he had felt at being free. He sat for a long time on that chair, the one they had saved for him, with his helm in his hands, resting on his knees.

All around him were ghosts.


	18. Fever Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prime starts the hunt for Ratchet and Galvatron learns something he shouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Milder chapter again, a bit of interfacing in the form of fever dreams. Mentions of sexual torture. Death of a minor character.
> 
> Note: Just to clarify, there are three lists. Megatron’s original cleaned up/soft list intended to be given to Prime, the harsher one (all of the rejects from the softer list) sent to Starscream, and the joke one sent to him by his soldiers that he really, really should have just deleted.
> 
> Sad ending warning continues: This fiction counts towards your daily dose of depression.
> 
> Thanks for the comments everyone! I love them. :D It is nice to know folks are enjoying this. I have never written so much in my life. There are maybe three or so chapters left at the most.

_Ratchet is not here._

He had dragged himself back to his feet and searched, but found no evidence that his old friend had been taken by the Sweeps. And then his spark leapt within him when he found the second set of coordinates. Cut into the rock as previous, but this time with a date.

One week ago.

Optimus clung to that hopeful truth as he finally pulled himself together. _Ratchet must not have been here when the others were found and killed,_ he realized as he reached out and touched the glyphs cut into the wall.

_He found them as I have. Then returned to leave me the coordinates as close to the Decepticon base as he dared, in the hope I would find them if I escaped. He was hiding here waiting for me, and the sweeps must have returned and found him. He crept back and has left me the new set of coordinates so I can find him at his new location._

It made sense. Obviously it wasn’t safe for him to stay and wait for Optimus here. There were drops of internal fluid here and there and a smeared bloody half-servo print, left absentmindedly by the medic while he was carving the glyphs for his leader. His unfailing faith in his Prime was engraved in coordinates cut into the wall, distractedly signed in his own internal fluids.

Ratchet still held faith in his leader and was waiting for him.

Optimus reached out his hand, and gently placed it over the bloody servo print and shuttered his optics. He mentally turned his focus from his Autobots, all of them now dreadfully accounted for, and threw all of his faith and his concern and his hope on finding his lost medic. He resolved himself to find his last dear friend or die trying.

Filled with determination, he sat back down at the table and hurriedly began to decode the new coordinates.

As he worked, he became aware of a flush of heat throughout his body. It was a familiar heat, the beginnings of a fever that hadn’t returned since the first days of his captivity with Megatron. He pushed his worry away, but the fever remained, and the erotic whispering from the slave coding grew more frequent. It would only grow worse with time.

Distracted, Optimus took one of his two yellow energon cubes out of his subspace. His fuel tank had been full to the brim when he escaped, thanks to Megatron’s attentions. He knew he needed to keep his levels high in case of attack, and to that end all of his non-critical internal systems were offline to conserve energy. He only transformed when necessary, but the frantic drive had dropped him down to 72%.

Half-way though his task, he reached out and lifted the cube. He brought it to his intakes to take a sip and a furious pain jagged through him as the coding came alive in his mind and clenched his hand in punishment.

 _What?_ …and then he was forced by the coding to drop the energon cube. The contents splattered out over the table. His optics flew wide and then his expression sank as the yellow fuel dripped down to the ground. The entire cube was wasted. He couldn't drink any of it. He couldn’t so much as take a sip.

 _Megatron ordered me not to fuel myself as punishment,_ Optimus remembered, now completely alarmed. _The few times he had let me fuel myself, he was always clear it was an exception to the rule._

He sat back as the larger consequences of Megatron’s order sank in. _I am surrounded by fuel on this world, and I can’t touch any of it. Damn him to the pit. He is nowhere near me_ _and he still remains a pain in my aft plating._

His fuel levels were still high, but they won’t stay that way.

The coding grew bolder with the fever, and whispered erotic suggestions on what Megatron could do with his aft plating. He rejected those lewd whispers with a hiss and focused on his problem.

_I am not allowed to fuel myself, but perhaps that doesn’t mean only Megatron is allowed to provide fuel._

He hoped that was the case, anyway. Ratchet might have to help him and he felt a twinge of embarrassment. He didn’t look forward to having to explain to his old friend why he needed help fueling. Or worse, sat on and force fed if the coding was so specific as to only allow Megatron to fuel him. He had a bad feeling about that.

_Megatron specifically said he would be fueling me. Would the coding force me fight anyone else trying to help me?_

He had no idea.

Optimus signed as he returned to working on the encrypted coordinates.

 _As soon as I ask him, Ratchet will insist I explain, and he will figure out very quickly what Megatron has been doing with me._ The thought made him morose. That was another conversation he wasn’t looking forward to. But the comforting touch of the medic’s field that he would most certainly receive immediately thereafter would be most welcome.

Optimus forced himself to focus on his task while doing his best to ignore his slowly growing fever. The first glyphs turned out to be a short message from his dear friend, an apology of all things. He huffed at that. Ratchet had left a few words of apology for sending Optimus here, instead of somewhere else.

_Ratchet must have thought it was safer to hide in the cave after the Sweeps had already gone through it. After all they had already slain the others._

Ratchet hardly owed him an apology for trying to stay alive. It made sense to assume the Sweeps might not bother coming back to a place they had already ransacked. Unfortunately that was not the case, and the harried medic had obviously been found here by a Sweep patrol. He was lucky to be alive, and had taken a dreadful risk to sneak back to leave his new location for Optimus.

_You have nothing to apologize for. I am coming, old friend. Please be alive. Hold on for me._

Optimus finally cracked the rest of the encryption. The new set of coordinates suggested a location which was back the way he'd came and he felt a deep sense of trepidation. The location was back towards the Decepticon base; the last direction he wanted to go.

 _He is staying close to their base in the hope of reuniting with me. We are all that is left of our faction now. He is hoping I manage to escape._ Optimus knew he had to head back. _When my fuel lines run dry my life is over unless I can reach Ratchet._

There was no choice now.

 

* * *

 

The Decepticons were having their own share of troubles.

There were several skirmishes during the outer patrols that morning, as Galvatron had increased his presence on the edge of the Decepticon territory. His maneuvers were beginning to show glimmers of an intelligent mind beyond the simple aggressive attacks and crude insults Megatron had come to expect from him.

It was a worrying development.

Megatron had just returned from completing an inner perimeter patrol when the call came through. Galvatron himself was only fifty miles out from their base, and he and a small strike team had overwhelmed the ground patrol under Onslaught’s command. The Combaticon squad leader was currently fighting Galvatron and taking damage. Headstrong, part of his patrol, had been injured and was being dragged away by Sweeps.

Megatron immediately slapped together a special detachment and flew out to back them up. Megatron, Acid Storm, and Skywarp arrived just as Galvatron finished chaining down an unconscious Headstrong and hoisted his limp frame over his shoulder. Onslaught and Vortex were similarly bound and being carried off into the air by the Sweeps.

Galvatron shouted orders for his troops to separate and then he transformed into jet mode. He fired one shot at the charging Megatron and ordered his unencumbered Sweeps to keep Megatron busy.

Galvatron fled into the dirty greenish sky with Headstrong strapped across his back while Megatron roared after him in hot pursuit. The Sweeps dispersed as Acid Storm flew after the Sweep carrying Onslaught and Skywarp darted after the one with Vortex.

Megatron scattered the attacking Sweeps before him with barely a pause. “You are a coward fleeing from battle! Where is your vaulted courage, Unicronian? Turn and face your better!” he roared after Galvatron's retreating jet contrails.

Megatron was surprised when the overly proud mech did not immediately turn and accept his challenge. Normally the Unicronian was so easy to manipulate. Instead his counterpart continued on his course, intent on escaping with his prisoner and, in doing so, further whittle down his enemy’s forces.

Megatron, unencumbered, immediately redoubled his efforts to catch up to his retreating opponent. He nearly caught up to Galvatron when Soundwave’s frantic voice broke into his internal emergency comm.

Another ground patrol led by Motormaster had just been ambushed by a second Unicronian strike team commanded by Cyclonus. The Stunticon squad leader and Galvatron’s second were currently locked in furious battle. Ravage was part of that patrol and he'd been taken by the Sweeps. Megatron was mere microns from overcoming the fleeing Galvatron when a frantic Soundwave sent him the coordinates of his precious cassette, complete with the escaping Sweep’s calculated trajectory.

“I understand, Soundwave,” Megatron answered with frustration, “but I am already in pursuit of Galvatron and he has Headstrong. Comm someone else to intercept.”

Soundwave’s rumbling monotone (and yet somehow still utterly frantic) response made it clear there were no other mechs close enough to catch the Sweep with Ravage, and Megatron was forced to make a choice. It wasn’t hard, as Megatron would always reward loyalty first. Soundwave was his most loyal subordinate and Ravage had never turned on him, unlike Headstrong.

Megatron cut short his chase and reconvened to overtake the Sweep with Ravage. He failed to notice that Galvatron, observing his enemy had given up, also turned back towards the battle in response to his own troop’s request for aid.

Both insanely powerful leaders returned separately to the long sprawling assault ... each being a juggernaut unto his own, both capable of single-handedly changing the course of a battle.

Megatron banked and darted towards the moving coordinates with Soundwave sending him position updates on the location of his precious cassette. It wasn’t long before he saw the Sweep holding a bound Ravage, and set himself on a collision course. The heavy warbuild smashed into the Sweep from above, knocking the minion out of the sky while snatching up the falling cassette.

Megatron circled and saw the frantic Sweep hit the ground and stop moving, deactivated from the impact. He hissed, pleased, and reported his success to a relieved Soundwave. He took a moment to unbind the metal panther, running careful servos comfortingly over the cassette’s back. Tucking a dazed and confused Ravage safely under his arm, Megatron’s forceful voice burst onto the emergency comms.

“This is Megatron, your leader. Ravage is recovered. I demand an update and a head count. Report!”

“Acid Storm reporting in, Onslaught is recovered and the Sweeps are fleeing.”

“Cyclonus is retreating, empty handed. Rest of my team is accounted for,” Motormaster reported. His rough vocalizer was thick with satisfaction as other than Ravage, he hadn’t lost any of his mechs.

“Skywarp here, Headstrong’s still in trouble, need a little help-”

At that exact moment, Skywarp lost his furious, unexpected battle with the returned Galvatron. The seeker’s frantic battle ended when he took a fist to the face plates and dropped to the ground like a stone. The light build was gathered up and the chained Headstrong passed over to a Sweep to carry while Galvatron winged away towards the horizon with his new captive.

“We need help out here!” Vortex’s voice burst through the emergency comms, including his location. “I’m functional but Galvatron is here and Skywarp is down and that freak still has Headstrong!”

Below them, a chained and helpless Vortex managed to roll and drop down into the safety of a thin crack below, and frantically reported his coordinates. He also reported that Galvatron had returned and gotten the drop on Skywarp. The seeker was unconscious and being carried away by the Unicronians.

Megatron roared in fury, cursing over the comms. He twisted around and gunned his engine, heading towards Vortex’s location while Soundwave remained morosely silent.

“This is Air Commander Starscream, Thundercracker and I are on route, don’t let him get away you glitches!”

Pushing their flight engines to the max, Starscream and Thundercracker flew towards Vortex’s location as quickly as they could. Both were out on perimeter patrol in the opposite direction and had missed the entire battle.

They reconvened with Megatron and frantically searched for the stolen mechs while remaining together for safety. The rest of the Armada collected and returned the injured to base and then winged back out to join the search for one of their own.

The Decepticons spent the rest of the day hunting until the evening threatened. The barely visible sun dipped lower and lower towards the horizon until the bitter truth could not be denied. Furious for the loss of more of his soldiers, Megatron was forced to order his soldiers back to base for the night.

The Unicronians had gotten away with more Decepticons.

Starscream was silent for once as he banked back towards home. His dirty white wings cut the air and left contrails behind him as the weak sun began to set in the distance. Spark-heavy, he turned back towards the base, but was forced to bank again as Thundercracker refused to follow him. Reluctantly, he overwhelmed and then dragged him along behind; his trine mate didn't want to obey.

Thundercracker was inconsolable.

 

* * *

 

Optimus Prime knew he was running out of time, and yet he lingered a few moments longer to say his last goodbyes. The Autobot leader placed his hands down on the table one last time. His optics were still closed in farewell when he heard a familiar, distant buzz.

Flight engines.

But the sound was not the vibrant thrumming of Decepticon flight engines. This was the buzzing whine of the Sweeps. He ducked down in a flash and headed for a side passage. He charged down the side tunnel as he heard distant sounds of scuffling claws and crunching metal. Several heavy thumps sounded as the patrolling Sweeps landed on the cavern floor.

 _They are still searching for Ratchet. The spilled energon will alert them to me._ He stalked away as quickly and quietly as possible. Then he heard distant echoing shouts; they'd found the energon.

Fortunately the cavern was very large. It would take them a bit of time to search it. He managed to get far enough away and then transformed and rolled out with great haste. He was forced to waste some of the late afternoon sticking to the subterranean tunnels as he knew Sweeps were flying above and scouting the area. They would be more aggressive now that he had tipped them off that someone was still alive in this area. He doubted they had any idea it was him, as they were still focused on finding Ratchet.

And yet he was keenly aware he was on a timer... and trading safety for precious time. He drove for awhile until he was certain he had lost them, and then as soon as he felt safer abandoned the more cautious routes and roared back out into the open crevasses to gain some speed and make up for lost time. Eventually he was forced to find shelter for the night when the temperature began to drop.

Dusk had fallen.

Optimus slid to a stop in front of a likely-looking shelter. He transformed and coughed and spat to clear grit out of his intakes, absently wiping at his face plates to clear some of the gray silt collected from the journey.

He realized he was truly filthy and couldn't help but long for the basin, wishing he had just a few moments alone with it sans the aggressive warlord who owned it. At the thought of Megatron, his mind started to blur and he felt a hand ghost over his back strut. The coding was occasionally manifesting imagery now, but the silvery being Optimus was being presented with was not Megatron. It was the vision of him Optimus had sometimes entertained in his daydreams.

That silver warlord didn’t exist. He had never existed. The reality of Optimus' old adversary was far, far harsher, and he shook the thought and the imagined touch away.

With a final searching look at the sky above, Optimus settled down for recharge in a small crack in the wall. He wrapped the thermal blanket around himself and tried to ignore the slave coding’s lurid whispers as the fever grew within him. The coding was likely to kill him in a few more days, but he would certainly freeze to death tonight if he refused to give this world the respect it was due.

 _At least the Sweeps will be winging home as well. They are not immune to the dangerous weather._ Comforted by the thought, Optimus finally drifted off. Unfortunately the coding was not content to let him rest peacefully and his recharge was filled with erotic dreams.

 

* * *

 

The evening was a gloomy one for the Decepticons.

Megatron was brooding on his throne, tapping his fingers on the arm rest and adrift in dark thoughts.

Starscream left him to it after reporting in, and now he was walking down the main corridor, listening to quiet whispers from his fellow Decepticons. For all that everyone was moping for lost comrades, there was one spark that was happy tonight. The fluttering remained strong within Starscream, bouncing and flicking and rolling and twisting, the new life dancing within him, keeping merry time with his spark beat.

 _Stop it!_   Starscream ordered down at his abdominals as he cautiously checked for Soundwave’s location.

 _No!_   He could almost hear the reply. If the unborn was formed enough and could speak, he or she would be yelling steady streams of _hello! hello! hello! hello!_ …and then no doubt running away with much joyful clicking and squeaking.

Starscream did everything he could to ignore all the happy sensations. It grew harder day by day as this little spark had a voracious appetite for life, clinging to it tenaciously. It was a good quality to have, and rather heartening.

After double checking to make sure Soundwave was far away (no doubt tending and fussing over his injured cassette) Starscream succumbed to his otherwise aching spark and went out and searched for his surviving trine mate.

Thundercracker wasn’t in his quarters. After questioning Blitzwing and a few others, he finally tracked down the downcast Thundercracker to the armada flight hatch. His trine mate was leaning on the hatch wall, side facing the hatch opening, and his wings were slanted downward. His back to Starscream as he watched the last of the evening’s light fade to utter darkness.

The ship interior at the flight hatch was dark as well. Only the lighting from the two seekers and a dim light from above provided illumination. There was the faintest twinkling of stars tonight, as the sky was unusually clear.

“Hey.”

Starscream called a cautious greeting while slowly approaching his trine mate. Thundercracker’s posture while leaning against the flight wall seemed casual enough. But Starscream could tell from the cant of his wings that he was hurting. The other seeker’s EM fields were tucked against his plating to hide his emotions, but his every delicate wing line spoke of dejection and loss.

Starscream understood. He felt the same and his wings were a mirror of the other. They both keenly felt the loss of Skywarp, and Thundercracker didn’t move, didn’t answer him.

But Thundercracker didn’t send him away, either.

Starscream hesitated and stepped closer. When Thundercracker didn’t make any effort to reject him, Starscream moved in. He took a risk and touched the other seeker in the space between his wings, his servos brushing intimately close.

Thundercracker flicked his wings in acknowledgement. His EM field was now tangible between them and it was seeped in sadness. Starscream brushed his own against his trine mate. The loss was reflected and shared between them. They stood together in this way, as puffs of cloudy vapors huffed from their vents, floating wide in the rising chill of the night, as the silence stretched between them.

It was Starscream who broke the quiet, his voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant. “You… do you want to recharge with me tonight?”

“Frag yes,” Thundercracker muttered, relief pulsing out across his EM fields.

Thundercracker hadn’t been looking forward to spending the cold night alone, but he was too proud to comm Starscream to ask. He was still upset at being so inexplicably rejected by Starscream, but he wouldn’t dare approach anyone else tonight. It might be seen as weakness, something to exploit. He had his own fearsome reputation to maintain, after all.

Wings canted only a little higher, they walked back to Starscream’s quarters together for the night.

 

* * *

 

_...Prime._

_He opened his optics upon hearing his name and looked up._

_Leaning over him in the darkness of his shelter was the silver warlord._

_Gleaming eyes were bright and the gaze friendly as the silver one looked down over his escaped captive._

_I was worried about you. You must return to me. You know I will forgive it._

_Delicate lip plating slowly parted, we will find a way, you and I. Let there be peace between us._

_Then the other slowly leaned down towards him and took his intakes._

_The kiss was gentle and he pressed into it, needing this, needing the other frame._

_He gasped into the other's intakes as the heavy body pressed down upon him._

_The other trapped him between the floor and hot silver plating._

_Servos roamed his body as the kiss deepened._

_He found himself spreading his thighs to let the other move in closer._

_The other slipped between them and-_

 

Optimus gasped awake, shocked by the sheer vividness of the erotic dream. It was barely halfway through the night. The fever was getting worse, but it was the slave coding’s punishment that actually woke him, jabbing him with pain and whispering that he was being a bad slave.

More intense pain raked through him in punishment for his disobedience and Optimus panicked and struggled to understand what was wrong. After a frantic assessment, Optimus realized that his fuel gauge had hit the half way mark. It had just pinged over while he was sleeping.

_I am to warn Megatron when I am half empty._

Finally realizing the problem, Optimus' plating flared with wild alarm. His mind raced over his options and he doubled over, clutching at his helm as that familiar pain lashed him. He had no options. He _must_ advise his master of his fuel levels. He could think and plot and plan all he wanted, but when he was actually given an order, that order _must_ be obeyed. The slave coding ramped up the pain as he clearly wasn’t in the process of obeying.

… and yet the devil was always in the details.

Megatron hadn't told him how he was to be informed; just that he was to be informed. _I will warn my master of my fuel levels as I have been ordered,_ he told himself (and thus the coding monitoring him) and he thought the words as loudly as possible, repeating it like a mantra over and over.

He cleared his mind of all other thoughts, focusing instead on the pain in his mind. He opened his comm and pulled up an old and defunct short-range emergency frequency once shared with Megatron long ago. It had only ever been used for universe-ending threats needing to be dealt with by the two faction leaders. He didn't think about it, or the implications. He mentally went through the motions of following the order given - reporting to Megatron his fuel levels - while being careful to not thinking about anything deeper than the simple act of typing out a message on his internal comm system. He tapped out the message while thinking as loudly as possible how he was responding as ordered and then physically sent the text reporting his fuel levels.

 _I did obey,_ and Optimus thought to himself as loud as he could, _Megatron has been informed as ordered._ As far as he knew Megatron could be on the other end of the line. The coding immediately calmed, sensing his compliance. There was a chance Megatron could still receive a message from him, and maybe that is why his little trick worked, but it was unlikely. He was too far out and they hadn’t used this channel since mid-war.

He slowly relaxed, and then flinched. The message had been sent, but without a confirmation from the receiver, it had automatically queued up to resend as soon as he was close enough. He couldn’t cancel it without triggering the coding. There was nothing he could do, and so he tried not to dwell on it.

Optimus laid back down, though tension would make returning to recharge a difficult matter. He coughed out the grit in his intakes from the dirty air, and then sprawled out on his back plating. He tried to force himself to relax, sucking in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out, the air puffing around him. His fuel levels slowly but steadily dropped, and they would be a serious problem in a few days. Assuming the fever didn’t get him first.

He was having trouble clinging to hope, but thankfully the thermal blanket kept him warm enough and he finally drifted back into recharge. But the erotic dreams follow him, always whispering of forgiveness and need and urging him to return to his master.

 

* * *

 

“Is he even alive?” Swindle muttered from his place on the floor.

The Combaticon was lying on his side and thankfully he couldn't see the spectacle, but the sounds drifting over to him were beyond frightening. He was heavily chained up like the others, sprawled out on the floor of the cave their enemies were using as a base.

Skywarp and Headstrong, meanwhile, were closer to the thrashing mess in the middle of the floor. They watched the spectacle with fuming optics.

The answer to Swindle's question was no. No, Divebomb was no longer still alive, and fortunate for it. He had been treated to the Unicronian version of the same treatment the Sweep scout had endured while chained to the floor of the Decepticon base. That scout had escaped, and perhaps advised his kin of the practice, and now the enemy was giving it a whirl.

So far it had been a big hit.

The Sweep’s claws were razor sharp and they hadn't bothered being careful with their captive, and Divebomb had finally leaked out. The prisoners knew that death was probably the point, so they could be reanimated into loyal Sweeps later.

“No. He’s gone.” Skywarp finally reported to Swindle while scowling furiously. “Thank Primus.”

Skywarp wasn’t actually religious, but he was still grateful Divebomb no longer suffered. His metal was turning gray in death and his torment was over. But his frame had not been left in peace as the Sweeps aren’t so sapient enough to care about such things.

“Unicronians are so wrong,” Skywarp muttered. The fluid splattered over Divebomb’s body was the same curdled green color that Starscream had been covered in. It reminded him of rotting lubricants, and his fuel tank roiled unhappily. “So wrong," and he looked away.

Headstrong, a few feet away, continued to stare at Divebomb’s frame with unblinking optics. They had been team mates for a very long time, and Skywarp couldn't imagine what the bull-former was thinking, was feeling. Imagining any of his trine in Divebomb's place made his spark surge, and Skywarp distracted himself by whispering to Swindle, “Any idea how they reanimate their dead?”

Skywarp directed the question to Swindle as he had been in captivity the longest. Skywarp hadn’t given up hope for escape, considering his special ability. He had to wait until his currently low energy levels were high enough for his warp core to be functional, though, and in the meantime this was a chance to gather some intel on their enemies. He wasn’t going to waste it.

“Yup, sort of,” Swindle whispered back.

“Galvatron does it himself, somehow. He walks in that side passage sometimes,” Swindle pointed with his chin, “and Sweeps come out after him. They threw all of their dead in there, he went in, and later they came out after him as pretty as you please.” He dropped his helm and his optics glowed only dimly for his injuries. The captives hadn't been fed or given any consideration as sentient beings.

Skywarp craned his neck and grunted “Huh,” but couldn’t see into the side cave Swindle had indicated.

“Also, I think I know why they are so…wrong, as you put it.” Swindle said, quietly. At Skywarp’s interested look he explained. “I think they are sick. I saw both of the commanders purge their tanks several times, and it was that same sick color. Remember Galvatron and Cyclonus were changed and empowered by Unicron as his heralds with he attacked Cybertron? I think they are detoxing off dark energon and maybe converting back to normal.”

“Yes I remember, but that doesn’t make sense,” Skywarp whispered back to him. “They have been in cages like the rest of us for months. There is no dark energon here. Their fuel tanks have to have cycled through by now and filled with normal energon.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Swindle explained. “That dark energon stuff is _serious_. It sticks around in your innermost energon and all throughout your spark and frame for a long time after you drink it, not just your fuel tank. It infuses through your entire being. Seriously. I think they are coming down from the dark energon charge. I think they are sick for it.”

Skywarp frowned. “I hope this doesn’t mean that when they are clean, they will be even stronger?”

“Probably not stronger,” Swindle guessed, “But maybe more … normal. I wonder if whatever Unicron did to them is wearing off? If so, then maybe Galvatron will lose the ability to regenerate his troops?”

Skywarp sighed. One could hope, anyway. It was all conjecture at this point. But it was clear that whatever was coming out of the Unicronians, it didn’t seem healthy. If losing the taint of dark energon could keep Galvatron from reanimating his dead, then the Decepticons were almost assured of a lasting victory. He certainly wouldn’t count on it, but it did make sense. The properties of dark energon were a mystery, and the blood of Unicron could animate the dead.

Swindle craned his neck, seeing movement further down the cave system. “When will you have enough energy to…you know?” Swindle whispered to Skywarp, nervously. He made a soft imitation of the _wharp_ sound.

Skywarp hissed at him to be quiet. “Not for hours.” He finally answered. It was currently their only hope for escape. _Hurry up and covert, damn it!_ Skywarp wanted to yell at his churning fuel tanks.

“Well, bad news then. I don’t think we have hours.” Swindle said, sounding worried. “One of us doesn't, anyway.”

Cyclonus arrived a moment later. He ordered the Sweeps off the body of the dead Predacon, and they watched him unchain it. Then he dragged the corpse away, down to the side cave and out of sight. When he returned, he grabbed and began dragging Headstrong to the middle of the floor. Pulling him towards the center, it was obvious that Cylonus intended Headstrong to take Divebomb’s place. The previous Sweeps left, and new ones took their place. They were being rewarded for their service, and were clearly excited about it.

Their hissing chatter was intelligible and ominous.

“Wait, wait! Please!” Skywarp and Swindle flinched as Headstrong began to beg for his life. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't honorable, but it was entirely understandable, and they watched their faction mate fearfully as he struggled in his chains while being dragged away. Eventually it would be their turn to beg, they know. The Unicronians didn't seem to be in any hurry, though.

“I have information,” Headstrong begged, his vocalizer crackling in fear. “I have something that your leader will want to know. It will give him the future!”

Pleading for one’s life is all fine and dandy, but pleading for one’s life while offering the enemy information and betraying one’s faction was a different thing entirely. Skywarp and Swindle still understood, but they scowled furiously at their terrified fellow Decepticon.

“Shut up about it, whatever it is,” Skywarp yelled after him. “Don’t give them anything. They will just kill us anyway.”

Cyclonus paused. “What information? Speak quickly. I have no interest in games.”

“What could he possibly tell them about us that they don’t already know?” Swindle muttered to Skywarp.

Swindle was not hopeful for any sort of reprieve. It wasn’t like they had any secret weapons or that their numbers were unknown. He had already plied his excellent skills as a merchant to try and bargain for their lives with his captors. He quickly discovered he had nothing to offer them that they want, beyond his death and reanimation as a Sweep.

“It’s about Megatron and Starscream. Important information! I want to trade our lives for a secret. I demand to speak to Galvatron!”

Skywarp hissed. He had no idea what Headstrong was going on about, but he really didn’t like where this conversation was heading. “Don’t give them anything you stupid ground pounder!” Skywarp yelled after them as Cyclonus pulled Headstrong towards a far cave and out of vocalizer range.

 

* * *

 

Optimus traveled all throughout the day. Heading back towards Decepticon territory, he only had to duck down a few times to avoid Sweep patrols, their buzzing engines revealing them as they tirelessly searched the cracks and crevasses for Ratchet.

Only once did he hear the more alarming sound of Decepticon flight engines, the deeper sound rumbling from far above him. He hunkered down as they sped by, and he recognized Thrust and Dirge from their paint as the seekers soared overhead. They were obviously circling in a normal search pattern, but luckily they didn’t spot him at all.

Fortunately his frantic driving and the days spent out in the wilds had coated his entire body in dirty gray grit. His otherwise immediately recognizable colors were entirely dulled over, making him harder to spot from the air.

Optimus finally arrived at the set of coordinates by early evening. It was a small cave with an overhanging ceiling. Narrow at the opening, it widened into a round bowl shape once inside, and would be a comfortable shelter for one or two mechs.

But to Optimus’ deep frustration, Ratchet was not there, and from the signs there had clearly been a skirmish. There were more small splatters of internal fluid, - thankfully not a lot - and the entrance to the small cave has been slashed and shredded by razor claws.

And there, carved into the inner wall, was yet another set of encrypted coordinates.

 _The Sweeps must have found him here,_ Optimus realized. _They are hunting him just as the Decepticons did, and Ratchet was forced to flee._

Ratchet was as valuable to the Unicronians as he was to the Decepticons, and both rival factions desired him. His surgeon's skill could tip the balance of the small faction war. Both aggressive factions had expended a great deal of time and energy hunting him. Megatron had grilled Optimus carefully regarding the medic early on during his captivity, but thankfully he had nothing to give Megatron at the time. He knew Ratchet was lucky to be staying ahead of them and he reached out and touched the glyphs cut into the wall.

Another date, four days ago.

 _This is his next set of coordinates._ Optimus punched the wall in frustration. _I know this is not your fault old friend, but I don’t have the time to play hide and seek!_

His fuel levels dropped another notch and the fever was getting harsh. He tried not to think about it. Instead, he set himself down on his aft and worked out the next set. It took him longer than the last time as the fever made it harder to think and the insidious coding continued its distracting whispers.

Finally he had the next set decoded. The new location was further down the ridge. Thankfully, it led away from the Decepticon’s territory, but the path meandered badly. To make any sort of good time he would have to climb out and cross over a land bridge to get to the next crevasse.

 _It is another three days away if I am careful and stick to the tunnels, which I really should be doing while so close to Megatron._ _But I do not have time!_

Crossing over land during the day was stupid dangerous. It was only thirty miles away from Megatron’s base and Optimus knew the seeker armada ranged out much farther than that on their patrols. The armada was active all throughout the day, not to mention the ground patrols. But going the safer route would cost him too much precious time.

 _As long as I don’t run into Megatron himself, I have a fighting chance,_ Optimus thought. _Or Starscream._ His last order from Megatron was to obey Starscream and that command was still in effect.

It was almost dark, and he seriously considered making a run for it. He finally discarded the thought as the wind was picking up. The wind chill would freeze the lubricants and energon in his lines, causing them to rupture. He knew he would die if he tried to cross tonight.

But the slave coding will kill him too.

He sighed. It bothered him, but he decided he needed to wait. The wind was brutally cold tonight. It was the worst possible night to try and take that last desperate risk. Instead he climbed back into Ratchet’s crude shelter and wrapped the thermal blanket around his abdominals. He felt comforted knowing that Ratchet had slept here, not long ago. He ran a servo over the drops of internal fluid, knowing in his spark they were Ratchet's. He felt closer to his old friend tonight, and he whispered an ancient prayer to Primus.

 _I will find you, old friend,_ he promised. He slid into a fitful recharge, but his dreams remained erotic in nature and were filled with whispered promises and gentle touches.

 

* * *

 

Lord Galvatron had been unhurried.

He had spoken with a panicky Headstrong for many hours, and then dumped him back with the other prisoners. Galvatron had ignored the rest of them and strode away, looking thoughtful and distracted. He held on to his prisoners for most of the day.

Headstrong refused to say what he had told Galvatron and ignored Skywarp’s furious hissing. Skywarp seemed vindicated in his belief that Galvatron was going to kill them anyway. But then Cyclonus called off the Sweeps, and they were not abused any further.

Finally, late in the afternoon they were all hauled before the Unicronian Lord and dumped at his pedes. He stared down at them from his makeshift throne of stacked rocks and considered his captives thoughtfully for a long time. Then he looked away, as if his mind was wandering, chasing after some interesting mental venery.

Skywarp, always the first to get bored, coughed loudly.

Galvatron snapped his helm up. It was as if he was just remembering them. Then he slowly rose to his pedes and stalked forward, finally addressing them. After a long rabbit's chase of a speech - loudly proclaiming his superiority multiple times - he told them he had decided not to execute them. Apparently Headstrong had been successful at negotiating their release. Now, as a point of honor, Galvatron had chosen to keep his word.

“I can afford to be generous,” Galvatron assured them with a smug air. “After all it is only a matter of time before you are all mine.”

Galvatron’s face plates dripped with self-assured superiority while he informed them that the Unicronians would be moving on soon. No solid tactical information of any real value had been given to the Decepticons as their enemies were abandoning this cave system. Then Skywarp, Headstrong, and Swindle staggered away from the cave system the Unicronians were currently sheltering in, having finally been released by a smug and satisfied Galvatron.

Unlike them, Galvatron has learned something very important this day.

“What did you tell him?!” Skywarp snarled at Headstrong. He didn’t know what Divebomb had traded for their lives, but he knew he was furious with his faction mate as they stumbled away.

“I lied to him, okay?" Divebomb howled. "I lied and got us out of there alive! So frag off!”

“What did you tell him?” Skywarp insisted, not even remotely convinced. There was something in Headstrong’s posture, his nervous, shifting optics. The mech was terrible at lying. There was no way he tricked Galvatron and Cyclonus, no matter how thick Galvatron might be. Something of value had been traded.

Skywarp was sure of it.

“What are we talking about here?” Swindle asked, confused. Both he and Skywarp hadn’t been present for the conversation between Galvatron and Headstrong. Swindle was just grateful his interface ports hadn't been pounded and slashed off his body.

“Nothing, Swindle,” Headstrong snapped at him. He turned towards Skywarp. “Just forget about it. I told them Megatron has a secret weapon. It was bogus and he bought it.”

“Heh, sounds like a good plan to me. Good thinking!” Swindle clapped Divebomb on his shoulder and kept walking. He really didn’t care. Results were all that mattered and the Combaticon was just happy to be alive. They all staggered away and finally stopped to work loose the chains the Unicronians had thoughtlessly left wrapped around their arms. Swindle quickly collected and subspaced them once they freed themselves, because hey, free chains.

“You are lying.” Skywarp accused Divebomb again, rubbing at his scratched up wrists. He was having trouble letting go. Something was wrong. “There is no way Galvatron would just let us go like that. I am serious, you stupid twit. What did you give him?”

“Frag off! I didn’t give him anything.”

“The slag you didn’t.”

“I said frag off!” Headstrong transformed and hunkered down, brandishing his horns and preparing to attack the other mech.

“Guys, guys!” Swindle stepped between them, waving his servos placatingly. “We have a bigger problem.” He gestured to the horizon, where the sun was starting to set. The cold was already seeping under their armor plating and they were far from the safety of their base, with no shelter.

“Unless you mechs want to get all cuddly with each other tonight in some dingy hole, we had better move our afts.” Swindle blinked for a moment. “Not that I have anything against cuddling, mind you. But my fee still applies.”

Skywarp snorted and raised his brow ridge. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Swindle nodded. He was dead serious. Hey, credits didn’t grow on trees, you know.

Headstrong just rolled his eyes and huffed through his muzzle.

They fled for the base, wanting to put as much space between them and their enemies as possible. Headstrong flinched as Skywarp continued to glare daggers at him, but as the miles passed, the easily distracted Skywarp finally let it drop. If Headstrong was lucky then hopefully Starscream will never figure out who tipped Galvatron off to his little… situation. At the very least, he'd bought himself some time. 

Headstrong wasn't the brightest of mechs, and so he clung to hope that Starscream would be merciful if he ever did find out.

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawned clear, but Optimus was far worse this morning.

The slave code remained quiet, but the fever had become all consuming. His helm felt hot, but his frame was cold, and he suffered waves upon waves of vertigo. Far worse were the lucid dreams that left his recharge and began to overtake his reality. His array simmered with a slowly building charge that would not dissipate.

Optimus did his best to ignore it and climbed out of the crevasse, falling back down several times due to flashes of vertigo. He knew he was going downhill fast. He wondered if he would even last the day.

_I must return to Megatron, or die._

Optimus realized the truth as he stood out on open ground, not more than twenty miles from the Decepticon base towards the west. _I would rather die,_ he decided, and turned his back to it in a final rejection. Finally face to face with the choice, he found the decision easy. It didn’t mean he had to meet it quietly while lying down, though. He would still try to reach Ratchet.

After making sure the sky was clear of Decepticon patrols, Optimus transformed into truck mode and drove towards the second crevasse. A few miles inland and he was starting to become very concerned. He kept rolling to a stop as his mind wandered and the lucid dreams would intrude. He would wake up, realize what had happened, and start driving again.

Optimus realized he was spending far too long above ground.

Then he blinked as the horizon wavered again and he forcefully returned his focus on the terrain around him. He gunned his engine and drove faster, making good time for a while, and then skidded to a hard stop as his worse fears were realized. Megatron was standing before him, hands on his hip struts in another one of his grandstanding entrances. The Decepticons must have spotted him when he left the safety of crevasse!

Optimus braked hard and _swerved . . . He skidded to a stop and transformed._

_That cultured voice drifted though the air, calling for him._

_He stood, bracing himself for the inevitable._

_Prime._

_The silver warlord called out to him again, plates clean and glimmering._

_Optimus closed his optics and clenched his fists, but it was over._

_His owner had found him._

_He heard his name again, and looked up at the Other striding towards him, slow and unhurried._

_The silver warlord smiled at him in welcome and reached out a hand._

_He stumbled for a moment, but was forced to close the distance between them._

_The other met him halfway._

_I missed you. I have been waiting for you. Come home. We will find a way._

_The other took his intakes then with a kiss and he melted against the warm plating._

_The kiss deepened and then a warm glossa slipped in and teased across his delicate plates._

_He found himself on his back, panels open and valve wet and crackling with charge._

_Heavy weight settled over him, brilliant red optics burning down above him._

_The other pushed in, the spike filling him and ridges brushing against and igniting every node._

_Hands wandered over his frame, stroking and teasing every sensitive place._

_He pushed back against the spike, matching the silver warlord thrust for thrust._

_The warlord cried out joyfully; back strut arching with his release._

_He matched that cry, his body peaking, aching with need._

_But there was no release for him. He pulled down on the other again, but it was too late._

_The silver warlord was already standing, beckoning at him again._

_Come. Let’s go home. You know I will forgive it._

_The other held out his servo to help him up…_

_…and then the horizon wavered._  
_..._  
_.._  
_._

Optimus blinked and shook his head.

Megatron was gone. Another lucid dream, he realized with alarm. They were getting stronger, and that one had been the strongest yet. The charge in his interface array was endlessly distracting to him now. He forced himself to ignore it.

He stepped forward and checked his chronometer and his spark dropped.

Three hours have passed.

He has been standing in this one spot for _three hours._

 _I’m not going to make it,_ he realized, his spark pounding within him. _I am going to offline before I even reach these coordinates._ He was still one day’s journey out. When did he transform out of his alt mode?

He couldn’t remember.

He transformed back to his truck mode, his fuel levels dropped another percentage, and he started driving again. If he stayed out here much longer a Decepticon patrol would absolutely find him.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was moving down the corridor, trying not to look like he was worried or hurried or practically running, when he was really doing all of those things at once.

All of his clever lies were keeping the Slagmaker off his back plating for now, but he was absolutely certain that had more to do with his healing injuries then Megatron having forgiven him for losing Prime. He was feeling much better and was back to avoiding Megatron again (this time trying to avoid another well-deserved punishment frag, thank you very much).

Megatron was far too interested in him now, paying attention to him, watching him, and the attentiveness he had focused on Prime was now being refocused in Starscream’s direction. He didn’t like it. It was bad for his long term plans to be followed after and watched so closely.

 _Damn this stupid ugly boring planet_ _and damn this stupid empty base and all these stupid slagging pit-spawned glitches._

Megatron had even invited him to stay the night after a far gentler frag then he liked, although his damaged valve had certainly appreciated the calmer handling. Starscream had refused of course. Then Megatron had dared to look disappointed. Clearly he needed to work out another good assassination attempt soon, if only to re-sharpen his leader’s sigil. Having Prime around really hadn’t been good for Megatron, of that Starscream was certain.

Fortunately Megatron was currently out on far perimeter patrol with Onslaught and Brawl, and was, fortunately, out of Starscream’s wings for a while. Thank Primus.

Unfortunately, Soundwave was trying to find him for some reason.

Starscream had tried to comm him to chat, but Soundwave had refused to accept that. There was a good possibility he was just tired of being avoided and wanted to hash out whatever was wrong so all members of High Command could function normally again.

There was no way in the pit Starscream was going to let that happen.

He knew it looked stupid and juvenile to avoid his fellow commander like this, but he still didn’t have any leverage. He felt he had no choice. He'd just darted down a side corridor in a rousing game of _keep away from the telepath_ when the news came through his comm.

“Skywarp has made it to the outer parameter of the base!” Thundercracker couldn’t keep the elation out of his voice. “He’s fine, Starscream! He just came into comm range along with Headstrong and Swindle.” Thundercracker’s cheerful voice crackled up his comm, but his message came through just fine, and Starscream grinned at the news as he ducked down another hallway.

“Tell that fragger I said to kiss my bolts,” Starscream cheered into his comms. “He freaked me out. I thought we were going to have to replace him. His kind of stupidity isn’t easy to come by.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, ‘Screamer.” Skywarp said, his jovial voice cracking over their private trine comm as he was just within range to rejoin it.

“Don’t call me that!” Starscream threatened, entirely without heat, and then he blinked as a warning popped up in his HUD.

A high command level emergency comm just became active, and Starscream tilted his head in surprise. It was an old defunct one, a frequency Megatron and Optimus Prime had shared for the occasional end-of-the-world emergency situation that would crop up from time to time. It had been used as a way to coordinate attacks between them during very rare times of alliance.

Starscream had cracked it long ago to monitor what was going on, back when he was more pro-active at killing his leader and taking control of the Decepticons. It had long been discarded by the two leaders, but he'd never bothered to remove it from his comm lists. Now it was blinking at him, showing an encrypted emergency message, non-verbal. He tapped through his file of old passcodes, looking through his stolen list of Megatron’s codes from that era, found it, and mentally keyed it in.

The message came through. ‘Fuel level 50%, reporting as ordered.’

That confused him, but only for half an instant. His sharp mind helpfully reminded him of Divebomb’s trial, and the little chat Megatron had with Prime when he'd punished Prime with forced feeding and ordered him to report his fuel levels.

 _He had to do it,_ Starscream realized. _This is how the poor bastard got around it._ It was a short range emergency comm and date tagged, which meant it had been delayed until Prime was within range to send.

It had just come through his comms which means…

Starscream calculated out the radius Prime had to be in for the message to arrive to him, and then bolted for the flight hatch. Starscream leapt out the hatch and transformed in mid-air just as Skywarp and the others walked through the main entrance.

Skywarp walked up to Thundercracker and clapped him on his arm, grinning.

Thundercracker promptly gave up all pretenses and hugged his idiot trine mate.

“Yeah, missed you too.” Skywarp murmured to his trine mate as he was crushed against the other frame, both entwining fields now pulsing with joy. Then he pushed him away and punched at him, as if annoyed by the stupid display.

Appearances must be kept.

“Lord Megatron commed me,” Skywarp told him. “He wants a full debriefing when he gets back from patrol. But I need a couple of cubes and a shower. Let’s go to the mess hall first.” Both mechs strode away together, and for the two flight frames all was right with the universe.

 

* * *

 

The voice barely registered through the haze.

“Prime?”

The sound of his own name floated out to him again and Optimus slowly came to himself. He found he was back in his primary mode again, sitting down in between two large towering rocks. He shook his helm and struggled to come out of his confused state. The charge in his array was stronger, and his interface plate was open in response to the fever dream he had been lost in. He blinked and shut it in alarm as a slow and terrible awareness began to nibble at the edge of his mind.

“Prime!” The commanding voice and the sound of flight engines finally knocked him completely out of his confused stupor.

The fever was much worse now. A strange heat burned throughout his frame. He looked at his chronometer instinctively before it finally registered that someone had spoken to him. Optimus’ helm snapped back as he finally recognized Starscream’s voice and dread realization ran through him.

_Oh no._

His mind was a litany of denials. He was on his pedes in a flash and tried to transform to flee, but he couldn’t. The slave coding tinged within him, pinging him to respond or be punished.

“There you are!” Starscream called out as he hovered above the startled truck-former. He transformed mid-air and landed gracefully on his heels as puffs of dirty grit swirled from the force of his landing. His brilliant red optics grew wide with delight and his wings folded back into a relaxed cant.

“Prime!” Starscream snapped, noting the glazed optics and stricken expression. “Are you listening?” His tone was sharp and threatening, but he still looked relieved to see him.

Optimus forced out an answer. “I… am listening.”

“Thank Primus I found you,” Starscream laughed, throwing his servos up in relief. “Megatron is losing his fragging mind.” The seeker had noted his aborted attempt to flee and seemed heartened by it. He walked over to Optimus and grabbed his arm, however cautiously.

“Hey,” Starscream asked, peering into the alarmed blue optics, “He ordered you to obey me. That should still be in effect, right?”

Optimus had to answer. “Yes.” Then he hurried on, urgently. “Starscream, please. Let me go. I need to find Ratchet. I…” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t live like this.”

“Whatever.” Starscream just snorted, unmoved. “No way. You have no idea how much trouble you got me into by leaving.” Starscream thwacked Optimus on his arm and then shoved him back a few steps in anger. “The frag were you thinking, Prime?”

Starscream shook his helm. “Oh, and speaking of trouble, I told Megatron that I gave you a direct order to stay at the base, and you bolted anyway. Something to do with the metal you were collecting. If you know what is good for you then you better watch your vocalizer and back me up.”

Optimus shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, Starscream. If he asks me I have to be honest. I have no choice.” He narrowed his blue optics at the seeker and set his denta. He couldn’t go back now. He just couldn't. “It would be wiser to simply kill me, and dump my body down the crevasse. I will not fight you.”

 _Not that I could anyway,_ and Optimus' spark sank for the thought.

“Oh slag no,” Starscream refused, cheerfully. “Megatron is way, way more interested in my business and my array when you aren’t around to keep his attention. Heh, better your interface ports then mine right now. I need you around to keep distracting our glorious leader.”

Optimus’ spark sank even further in his chamber and he waivered on his feet, still struggling with his fever.

Starscream stared thoughtfully at the unbalanced captive, then strode forward and grabbed Optimus by his arm again. He looked back towards the base and considered the situation for a moment, running through scenarios in his head. Starscream stood next to him for a time, in almost companionable silence. Finally he turned his clever gaze on Prime, and decided the other could still be a useful ally.

Setting his wings, Starscream put his plan into play. “Alright, so you can’t lie,” he conceded, “But you can still be careful. You have to obey me like you would obey Megatron, so listen carefully. If you can take the blame for escaping, and get me out of this mess, then my next orders come into effect. They supersede all other orders you have been given or will be given in the future, to the fullest extent possible, so long as my command over you remains in effect.”

Starscream leaned in and spoke his next words carefully.

“Talk to Megatron and take the blame for me, and after that I automatically give you permission to leave the base at your leisure to search for your medic. You may fuel as normal and you no longer have to report your fuel levels. You may return or not as you wish.”

Optimus blinked at that, considering. His dim, filthy plating flared a bit.

“It is the closest thing to freedom as I can give you,” Starscream explained. “Though there is nothing I can do about the fever. If you follow my instructions then you can get what you need from Megatron tonight and then escape again as soon as another opportunity presents itself, assuming you play your cards right. And remember, this is all hinging on you pulling my aft out of the fire.”

Starscream knew there was an excellent chance the first thing Megatron would do was remove the seeker’s command over his slave. Giving Prime this set of orders would probably amount to nothing and Prime would be distracting Megatron indefinitely, which was a win. If his gambit did work it would ensure he avoided punishment, also a win. Even if it didn’t the truck-former wouldn’t completely hate Starscream for forcing him back to the base and would remain a useful ally, another win.

It was almost a win-win-win scenario for him.

Optimus sighed and dropped his helm. _I will do this for Ratchet,_ Optimus thought. _Ratchet is struggling,_ he reminded himself. _Hunted and alone, and he will remain too close to the Decepticons waiting for me until I can reach him. I will not reach him today before the coding off-lines me. If I find him perhaps he can do something about the fever._

Optimus knew he would be doing this anyway, as Starscream was going to force him back to the Decepticon base regardless. At least now he had a better chance. Making the seeker out to be blameless would take some obfuscating and careful wording, though.

“I will try,” Optimus said, and Starscream flicked his wings in acknowledgement.

“It’s decided then. Back to Megatron we go.” Starscream said, speaking as if he had given Optimus a choice. Looking thrilled, Starscream knew the real plan would come later. He was certain he could use this situation to finally destroy Megatron once and for all, eventually.

Starscream grinned playfully at Prime. “Speaking of our mutual pain in the aft… hold on.” He tapped his wrist communicator. “Glorious leader! Guess who I just found while on patrol?”

Optimus’ spark dropped even further when there was an explosion of static from the comm, and Starscream laughed. “Well, _obviously._ Yes, and he looks like filthy dirty slag. How far out are you?”

Starscream laughed again at the response. “Heh. Fine. I will get him cleaned up in the meantime. Comm me when you get close.”

Optimus dropped his helm and pinched at his nasal sensor, not looking forward to what was coming. Starscream, fully aware he was being a complete aft, reached out a hand and clapped it on Prime’s shoulder, normally a friendly gesture.

It felt anything but friendly to Optimus now.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Starscream snapped his wrist comm closed with a flourish. “He is going to be so happy to see you. You have no idea how badly he's been moping while you were gone. The only reason he wasn’t bothering me was because…well, never mind about that. Seriously Prime, you will be fine.”

Hesitating, Starscream considered his own words for a moment. “Well, after the punishment frag is over, anyway.”

Starscream could tell Optimus was not comforted in any way by his words. Clearly Autobots were too sensitive. He ordered Optimus to transform and head towards the base as there was no way he was carrying the ground mech.

Starscream commed Thundercracker with the news and followed behind, lost in his churning, devious thoughts.


	19. The Hammer Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prime returns to Megatron. The hammer begins to fall for Prime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE READ THIS WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING!!** .......Graphic sexual torture at the end of this chapter (this is one of the couple of bad/kinky exceptions I mentioned, some chapters ago. Seriously, it’s brutal and triggery, be warned). There is a huge line of dots where that part starts, so you can skip it if you need to.
> 
> Normal Warning: Non-con sticky sex, Non-con oral, gangbang (seeker armada being naughty)  
> Sad ending warning now fully in play.

Prime looked resigned by the time he entered the base entrance.

Several of the triple changers were out front, and Astrotrain grinned at the returning Autobot and waved. Prime reluctantly nodded back. The wave was almost a friendly gesture to Prime’s perception, except Starscream knew the triple changer rather well and there was nothing friendly about the slant of the mech’s optics.

Unlike Starscream’s Armada who were mostly friendly towards the captive, most of the grounders were content to merely ignore Prime. Only some of them were openly tolerant towards him. Having Megatron as a protector, watching Prime help defend the base, and Prime pulling his own weight with the grunt work had cooled some of the hate from his new Decepticon brothers. But Astrotrain had always been something of an aggressive thug with Motormaster being the worst of the two resident trouble makers.

“Megatron will be back soon,” Starscream reminded as he landed next to the beleaguered Autobot. “So you better figure out what you are going to tell him.” There was a warning in his vocalizer.

Prime faltered on his pedes again, growing ever more feverish. His valve tightened at the thought of Megatron. The now ever-present charge in his array remained a steady pulse deep within him as the slave coding continued its lurid whispering.

“Heh,” Starscream laughed as he pushed the dazed Autobot in the direction of the communal washracks. “You don’t look so good, Prime.”

Prime stepped forward for a few paces, but then his eyes glazed over and he stumbled to a halt shortly thereafter. Distracted, he started looking down the dingy hallway as if unable to keep focus.

Starscream looked amused. “It’s the coding, isn’t it?”

With surprising patience, Starscream pushed the Autobot again, keeping up the steady pressure. “You need him, don’t you?” He guided the faltering Autobot down the hallway towards a shower and then Lord Megatron’s throne room.

“Yes.” Prime finally replied as the visions distracting him faded and something resentful coiled within him. He was frustrated with Starscream's jovial mood. Starscream was acting as if they were two friendly faction mates going home together instead of the reality; Starscream was forcing him back into slavery to his lifelong nemesis.

 _He is really not happy to be home,_ Starscream could tell. _Oh well, he will get back into the hang of things. He just better not cross me…_ though right now, Prime didn’t look like he could cross so much as a turbo rat. Starscream walked him into the washracks and pushed Prime so that his back plating was against the wall.

“Heh,” Starscream laughed ruefully, looking over the filthy body. _Good thing I am around to make sure he is cleaned up._ He couldn’t imagine standing before Megatron looking like this. Prime was a complete mess. Then he blinked as he saw trails of dried lubricants from around the seams of Prime’s interface panel.

“Open your panel,” Starscream ordered, overcome with curiosity. Prime frowned as he complied …and to think just days ago he thought he would never hear that order again.

Prime met Starscream’s amused optics with a disapproving stare. His array felt uncomfortably hot and he forced himself to slip back into that quiet, compliant persona he would need to project for any hope of escape. It didn’t slide on very easily. The time spent out in the wilds had reconnected him with his spark, reminding him of what it meant to be a free mech, and he clenched his denta in frustration at being back among the Decepticons.

Then another wave of vertigo hit. He ended up leaning back against the shower wall for support. It was obvious to Starscream that Prime’s mind was wandering again. Unfocused, Prime startled when Starscream reached out and gently traced his wet slit. Starscream slipped two fingers inside, feeling the squeeze as the passage instantly clenched around him.

“Wow. You need it bad, don’t you? Starscream asked. He could feel the convulsing, the gathering lubricants, and the ready charge arching through his fingers. “Megs is going to have way too much fun with this,” he muttered.

“How bad is this going to be?” Prime asked as he looked away. The tips of his fingers trembled for his growing anxiety, and he struggled to still them. He wavered on his pedes again as clever fingers tested the charge inside. He realized with a touch of dismay that he was growing far too used to such blatant intrusion. Indignation barely even registered at the touch anymore.

“Harsher then he has done to you already,” Starscream admitted, though he wasn’t alarmed. “Probably something near the bottom of the list he sent me,” Starscream snorted as he removed his fingers, now coated with lubricant. “I know what he has been up to with you.”

Prime’s back strut straightened in concern. “A list,” he repeated, and his electromagnetic fields shot through with sudden alarm. His fingers curled into fists.

Starscream blinked and then looked up at Prime as if finally seeing him; realizing his dim blue optics and his dirty hungry frame and feeling the thrum of his anxious fields. Starscream's optics widened a fraction, then narrowed as complex thoughts and emotions raced over his clever face plates. Then the moment of serious contemplation for the plight of the other mech was gone.

No one would ever accuse Starscream of being too empathetic towards others.

“Oh hey! You found him!” Skywarp’s cheerful greeting rang through the wash racks. Skywarp had just entered the washracks as he was in desperate need of a shower after his recent escape from the Unicronians.

Thundercracker followed after him while holding a half empty cube of energon and frowned at the sight of Prime.

Starscream brightened and beckoned the blue seeker over, and took the cube from him with a grateful flick of his wings. He took a drag from of it and then handed the remaining few mouthfuls over to Prime. Starscream watched as Prime hesitated, then brought the cube to his lips. Then he gulped the rest of the fuel down in obvious relief.

Starscream’s orders that he could fuel himself were clearly in effect.

Skywarp watched with curiosity, and then grinned when he realized what Starscream was up to with Prime. He tapped his comms, “Hey,” he called into his wrist transmitter to the rest of the Armada, “Starscream’s scrubbing Prime down in the wash racks. Get here quick if you want to watch him get his servos dirty for once.”

"Armada is on its way," Skywarp mouthed at Thundercracker, who just groaned at him while Skywarp walked over to the spray nozzle nearest the action.

Starscream heard the shout out over his own internal comm and laughed. Then he frowned. Another signal marker had popped up on his HUD and his plans changed instantaneously.

“Skywarp, you aren’t busy, right?” Starscream asked, throwing a playful look at his mischievous trine mate from over his shoulder.

“Not until Megatron gets back,” Skywarp said. Then his optics lit up hopefully. “Are _you_ busy? You need some help with Prime, oh most Glorious of Air Commanders?”

Starscream laughed at the mimic of his snarky title play with Megatron as he checked his HUD. He relaxed when he saw he had a few minutes before he had to get moving. Then Starscream stood back and considered the reluctant looking Prime that was staring back at him with disapproving (but definitely brighter) blue optics.

“Here, let’s make this a little fun,” Starscream said as he subspaced a loop of chain, and beckoned the feverish Prime over to him. He watched as Prime was forced by the coding to obey even while eyeing the chain with dread.

Prime stopped before him and frowned. “I would rather not.”

“Didn’t ask you, did I?” Starscream grinned at him impishly.

Starscream’s fields were extended and Prime could feel no malice in them what-so-ever. Starscream's own experiences with frequent (and entirely deserved) punishment interfacing had completely skewed his perception on what counted as acceptable interaction. As such, he had no qualms at all with what he was planning. He possessed no real empathy for the feverish mech before him. He was too focused on providing what was to his mind a little harmless entertainment for his Armada. The last week had been a complete disaster, and his flyers could use a little play to relax them.

“You could just order me to not harm them,” Prime protested, “Or better yet just order me to clean myself in Megatron’s quarters and report to him when he arrives. This is entirely unnecessary.” There was a note of hurt in his voice, under the frustrated, dignified expression.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Starscream just snorted at Prime, who was clearly too uptight. “Oh come on. Like they are going to hurt you. Did you forget you are Megatron’s favorite?”

“I don’t think you realize what being his slave actually entails.” Prime said. His words were harsh, but he wavered on his pedes as a wave of vertigo rushed through him. He felt terrible and it seemed things were only to get worse and worse for him. The tremble was back in his fingers, and once again he tightened them into fists.

“Like I said,” Starscream repeated, unmoved by overly-sensitive Autobots. “A little fun. Go ahead and close your plate,” he gestured at it and Prime snapped it closed immediately, “And you have my full permission to harm the slag out of them if you want to.”

Starscream smirked. “That’s half the fun.”

Then Starscream chained Prime's wrists and hooked him so his back was against the wall. Another few clicks of chains and he was secured to the shower by his wrists.

 _I’ll leave his legs free,_ Starscream decided. He made sure the Prime could fully stand on his pedes, with plenty of range to do some damage. _Can’t make it too easy on my armada,_ he thought with a grin. And many of them have already wandered into the washracks in the meantime. He would never dare do this with the grounders, but he wasn’t worried that his mechs would cause any harm. They were quite enamored with the captive Autobot.

Still, rules were rules. Better safe than sorry was the plan when it came to looking after Megatron’s things, especially this particular possession.

Starscream gestured at his Armada and held out three fingers. “Ground rules: clean him up, don’t damage him, and don’t overload in him. I told Megatron I would clean him up and I am delegating that to you fiends. He looks pretty by the end or it’s my plating, and then it’s _your_ plating.” Starscream bared his sharp denta at his armada, and they all flicked their wings in understanding and anticipation.

“He’s all yours, don’t you pit-spawned glitches ever say I didn’t do anything for you. I’ll be back for him when Megatron gets back from patrol, which will be soon.” Starscream said pointedly and then strode away, trying not to look like he was hurrying.

Soundwave was heading this direction and he needed to get lost. At some point Soundwave would realize that Starscream had bugged him with a tracker locator beacon while he was unconscious, because you just never know.

 _Hopefully he won’t figure it out too soon,_ Starscream thought as he strode away in a hurry.

 

***

 

Optimus saw the Armada close in around him and closed his optics for a moment to find some calm.

Optimus was not amused and the slave coding didn’t require that he suffer though this infringement of his personal dignity without complaint. _Bored indeed,_ he thought as the fever surged through his circuits. _These mechs need interests that do not involve me._

Alarmed and irritated, Optimus set his pedes, preparing to do some damage. _Starscream did say we were both surrounded by pit-spawned glitches,_ he remembered.

Apparently Starscream was one of those said glitches. It wasn’t like he was ever a true ally, Optimus told himself as another wave of vertigo hit. He knew he had no real allies here. He really shouldn’t feel so hurt and disappointed with the unpredictable flight build. Starscream was a Decepticon after all. At least Optimus had some chance to escape again, so long as Megatron didn’t negate Starscream’s control over his frame. It felt so surreal to be hopeful that Starscream - of all mechs! - remained in control of him.

Then Optimus heard a _wharp_ sound, and Skywarp was suddenly right in front of him, red optics gleaming. “Hey Prime. How’s it hanging?”

Optimus couldn’t help but huff at the terrible joke and the other seekers gathered around groaned. They all looked so…cheerful. _Here we go again,_ he flinched. At least they weren’t going to injure him. He thought of Divebomb’s obscene punishment on the floor of the throne room and winced.

 

***

 

Skywarp saw Prime wince as he and his brothers closed in.

Skywarp could tell Prime’s energy levels were low. He noted the dim optics, the sad state of his plating, and that he was absolutely filthy. He knew the feeling. Prime desperately needed a bit of attention today, the same attention Skywarp had just received from Thundercracker when he had staggered back from his own captivity.

 _This is going to be fun,_ Skywarp thought as he ducked close and teasingly kissed the captive Prime.

 

***

 

Optimus shrank back in surprise and then shivered as the charge in his array built ever higher. He frowned and shoved Skywarp away from him with his body. His pedes were still free, so he still had some power in his movements so long as his back stayed braced against the wall for leverage. He groaned, but the worst of this was just that he couldn’t stand to be tied down.

“Skywarp,” rumbled Optimus, who was growing frustrated as he struggled and his bindings held firm. “You know these chains aren’t needed. I am low on energy and can barely move. This is not sporting. At least unbind me so I can put up some sort of fight.”

 _Worth a try,_ Optimus thought as he really couldn’t stand the chains.

***

 

Skywarp considered it, as even he could see how much Prime hated the chains. Although Skywarp had been bound not even one day ago, his mind still did not draw a parallel between his situation and the Autobot now chained before him. Empathy was not a useful Decepticon life skill after all. Skywarp and his brothers were just playing with their reluctant new faction mate, and had no intention of harming him.

“Sure,” Skywarp finally answered. “Why not?”

The electromagnetic fields extending out from his brothers clustered around him were filling the communal shower with flickers of amusement and anticipation, with Prime’s frustrated, worried field the only negative counterpoint. Skywarp’s playful kissing and light touches hadn’t affected Prime’s field in the slightest.

Yep, the chains were _clearly_ the problem and they would definitely have to go. “Hey Sunstorm, is ‘Screamer gone?” Skywarp gestured at the door. The other checked, and then flicked a wing as confirmation.

At that moment Soundwave strode by. Intrigued by the cheerful emotional and mental noise emanating from the washracks, he stopped for an astrosecond and looked in. His visor flashed and he remained in the hall for a long moment, looking displeased to see Prime chained to the wall. His servos clenched into fists, and then he continued down the hall after the Air Commander, his pede steps a little faster.

Skywarp waited until the unusually perturbed third-in-command was gone, and then grinned at Prime. He walked up and grabbed him, helpfully hoisting the other mech up as Prime lifted his chains off the hook. Skywarp stepped back with both arms wrapped around the hip struts of the larger Autobot. Then Skywarp artfully flipped and contorted his body, jetting his thrusters for a moment so their landing was graceful as they dropped together. They both sank to the floor of the wash racks with Prime landing on his back plates.

A second later Prime’s hands were free of the chains. Skywarp felt Prime's rush of relief as it shot through his EM field.

 _Good start,_ Skywarp thought, and then snatched a strong, lively kiss from the startled Prime.

 

***

 

Optimus fell and his back hit the floor and the Armada fell upon him in a rush.

They took turns trying to steal kisses and Optimus fought them as promised, but his energy levels were dropping fast. Fortunately, he could tell by the cheerful, friendly noise that this little game wasn’t going to be harmful. The cheerful voices and flicking wings all around him lacked malice. Most of the Armada had been making friendly overtures to him whenever they encountered him in the halls, openly and regardless of who was watching.

It was unfortunate that what counted as friendly between Decepticon was worlds away from what counted as friendly between Autobots.

Optimus worked his intakes free from the flight mech currently kissing him and kicked at them but his spark really wasn’t in it. His energy levels _definitely_ weren’t. A light blue seeker mouthed his neck cabling, and the gentle touches were soothing, though he felt he should still be struggling. He pushed at the mech, and Ion Storm obligingly let the Prime shove him away. But another seeker, Acid Storm, immediately took his place. The throbbing charge in his array remained steady, and he ached for release.

Another wave of vertigo hit and the world spun around him. He huffed, someone’s soft mouth enclosed back over his and this time he relaxed into the gentle touch and closed his optics.

Optimus saw Skywarp turn on the hot shower as light, pleasing servos began to run over his plating. His spike and valve throbbed in response to the touches, driving the charge just a little higher.

Optimus’ vision blurred. A silver body moved through the crowd of flight mechs around him, blurry and indistinct. His mind began to focus on that phantom, pulling him into another fever dream. He huffed as the dream image wavered in and out, and then overwhelmed his senses.

The silver lord stepped forward _…and reached out to stroke his face plates._

_His lip plates parted to dip in for a gentle kiss._

_The servos reached out to stroke and tease…_

***

 

Then Skywarp blinked as all the fight seemed to leave the Prime.

Prime fell back, his optics glazed and distant, clearly lost in a lucid dream. Then he moaned and Sunstorm leaned in to steal another kiss. Sunstorm's wings flared in delight when Prime not only accepted the touch, but deepened it, sucking on the glossa inside.

“Careful vit him.”

Blitzwing was standing near the door. He was staying back and not getting involved. “You are going to torque off the boss. He has been in a crazy bad mood. You should just wait for the punishment frag. Then you can have some real fun vit him.”

Half the room broke out into grumbles while Skywarp reached down to touch Prime’s interface plating. “Oh throttle back will you, we aren’t going to hurt him,” said Skywarp, and then he blinked in surprise when Prime bared his interface array without prompting.

“Hey,” Skywarp called to Blitzwing, “Wanna give me a solid wing and watch the door? Keep the grounders out for us. Don’t want them getting in here and pawing at him. I think he is really messed up.”

“Vhat do I get out of vit?” Blitzwing asked with narrowing optics. He wasn’t going anywhere near Megatron’s toy without permission, and Starscream didn’t count as far as he was concerned. Megatron got real nasty when mechs touched his things without approval and the triple changer wasn’t willing to risk his plating.

Acid Storm smirked at him. “You get to watch.”

The Decepticons still had a task to do and the armada moved him farther under the shower heads. The hot fluid began pouring down over Prime’s face and chest plates. It started running into his intakes and he began to cough and choke and seemed confused.

Prime saw a flick of blue wings through his blurry vision as Thundercracker sat down next to him. Then Thundercracker covered his optics, intakes, and vents with his hands while holding his helm steady in his lap so Prime couldn’t thrash as easily.

“Settle down. No one here is going to hurt you.” Thundercracker’s deep voice was calm, and there was a tone of disapproval for the entire situation in his vocalizer. But his presence and his sheltering servos meant Prime could ventilate without fluid clogging his intakes.

Prime felt a light touch on his valve rim. Then gentle fingers began petting his array and he pushed up against them with a soft moan. The charge within him arched and snapped around the exploring fingers. “Slag,” Ion Storm murmured as he traced the slit, “He is shaking with charge.”

Ion Storm settled over Prime, light fingers tracing over the slit and then slipping inside.

Meanwhile, Acid Storm straddled Prime's head, spike emerging to threaten Prime's confused intakes. A few drops of Acid Storm's pre-fluid pattered down Prime's cheek until Thundercracker knocked him off Prime. "You get that damned thing out of my face," Thundercracker snapped, and a disappointed Acid Storm backed away.

Ion Storm snorted and held his ground, fingers plunging in and out of the captive valve, lubricants dripping from his eager fingers. His erect spike was eager as well, pre-fluid beading at the tip and trickling down.

Thundercracker frowned back, but he didn't bother to fight that battle. He knew he wouldn't be able to effectively defend that particular port anyway, not with the way Prime was groaning, not with the way his valve was sopping with lubricants, not with the way the tiny snaps of interface charge danced between the folds... all further provoked from Ion Storm's efforts.

Some play was to be expected anyway.

An instant later Ion Storm's spike replaced his fingers and plunged into Prime's valve. Ion Storm gasped for the incredible feel of him - _Primus!_ \- and further startled when Prime threw his helm back with a gasp. The invading spike was smaller than Megatron’s and Prime's fully charged and roused valve had no trouble with it whatsoever. Ion Storm's well-shaped spike had plunged straight into a whirlwind of furious charge, and Prime hissed, his body and array wild with need. The calipers clasped and locked into place and his valve cycled down, instantly overwhelming the invader with ready charge.

“Hey,” Sunstorm grumbled, “You really shouldn’t.”

But Prime's fully charged array hit Ion Storm like a freight train. He overloaded an instant later while Prime jerked for the sudden shock of sensation, Ion Storm shouting and convulsing atop him.

***

 

Optimus felt a shock of sensation.

It cut through the haze in his mind and faded out the vision of the silver warlord so lovingly working over his plating just moments ago. But the sensation passed very quickly, leaving in its wake only the sense of being filled and the searing heat of transfluid. The furious charge remained, throbbing needfully within him. His hip struts still trembled with sensation, but there was no satisfaction to be found.

Optimus was instantly irritated and frustrated. “Get off me,” he mumbled up at Ion Storm who was still seated atop and within him. “This is inappropriate.”

“Get off him,” Thundercracker snapped. “He belongs to Lord Megatron.”

"-not hurting him-”

Optimus overloaded again with a cry he couldn’t suppress, and then bucked Ion Storm right off his body. He tried to roll over, but there were too many hands on him. He shivered, beyond frustrated. It had been another strong overload, but the charge remained within him, entirely undiminished. His spike and valve throbbed ceaselessly.

“Something is wrong with me,” he muttered to himself in sheer misery. His need for Megatron was getting desperate and the fever-need was just intolerable.

“-holy frag, that was intense,” said an impressed-sounding voice Optimus wasn’t familiar with, and he shook his helm in frustration. He didn't appreciate how impressed they were with him. There was nothing good about this situation.

“It is the fever charge,” Optimus muttered, “and nothing more.”

All the hands around him paused in concern. Then they returned to stroking and cleaning him. He struggling to stay aware, but within moments he found his reality melting again. Then the phantom was back, his gentle kiss ghosting across Optimus' lip plating, and moments later he was drawn back into the endless fever dreams.

***

 

“Go get a few cubes for him. He still gets his ration. Now.”

Thundercracker was an officer in the command trine, and his orders held weight. Ion Storm - one of the celebrated Rainmakers - got to his pedes and sheathed his still twitching spike. He flicked a longing glance at Prime but quickly darted out the door to obey.

“’Warp,” Thundercracker hissed, recognizing the look on his trine mate’s face plates. “Come on. He looks like slag.”

“Frag off,” Skywarp answered, laughing. “I look like slag too. I survived the Unicronians and I feel like celebrating, so make me.” He threw a playful, challenging look at the baleful Thundercracker and took Ion Storm's place astride Prime. “He’s not hurt. You saw how he was enjoying Ion Storm.”

Skywarp flashed a grin as he firmly straddled Optimus, who only murmured something for the weight on his hips. His optics were unfocused, and he was still sopping. Skywarp didn't bother with preliminaries and plunged in, his dark spike a lightning rod in a sudden storm of charge. Shouting in delight, Skywarp only managed to last through a handful of thrusts, overloading almost immediately and Prime writhed beneath him for the near-instant overload.

Prime shuddered hard, and then gasped. He murmured something indistinct, his vocalizer seeped in frustration. Then he bared his denta and grabbed Skywarp by his hip struts and rolled over with him, suddenly and fully dominating the smaller, lighter frame now trapped beneath him. The armada let him take control, cheering him on as he ground down and thrust furiously, chasing his own pleasure. Skywarp was overwhelmed by the force of the charge, clinging to Prime's frame and crying out - _Primus! Primus!_ \- and again, hot splatters of transfluid flooded Prime’s valve, just like they weren’t supposed to.

“Don’t overload in him, remember?” Sunstorm hissed.

But Prime refused to release Skywarp beneath him, far too feverish for control. He shuddered with need and furiously rode the smaller frame beneath him. Another overload followed, pleasure demanded and then taken from the spike beneath him and Skywarp shrieked and complied. More hot pulses, more glowing transfluid dripped down from Prime's too-full valve to trickle across Skywarp's array, but the charge in his array didn’t abate.

Groaning in frustration, Prime pulled himself off the smaller mech. He would find no release, except beneath his master.

“That was so worth it,” Skywarp gasped out and then rolled over and sat up. He watched and a small frown grew on his face plates as Prime tore himself fully free, obviously confused and heaving. Blinking, Prime stared at the armada around him while they cheered and pounded his back plating in amusement.

“He fragged you into the _floor,_ ‘Warp!” someone yelled.

Skywarp was just about to start bragging when his face plates contorted in alarm as a report come through his comm. “Megatron is back!” he yelped at the others. That meant Starscream would be back for Prime at any moment.

The seeker armada re-pounced on Prime and pulled him back under the hot fluid. All of their play ended instantly as they bent to make sure his plating was scrupulously clean.

***

 

Optimus wearily shook off the feverish illusion, and the silver warlord faded away with only the greatest reluctance.

The return to grim reality was marked by hot fluid raining down over him and the sudden flurry of activity over his plating. Many, many careful servos were scrubbing industriously over his frame. They scrubbed out his valve and spike sheath to his intense - entirely unwanted - pleasure, but much more carefully. The hot fluid rinsed off the cleansers, flowing over his helm and face plates and he shook his head and splashed it out in all directions.

“I am tired of this,” Optimus huffed at them, utterly unsatisfied. “Leave me be.”

“Megatron’s back,” Sunstorm replied, murmuring in his audial. “Don’t worry, we got your back. If he puts you on the hook, we will make sure nobody frags with you too bad.” Sunstorm probably meant that to be comforting.

It really wasn’t.

A very familiar, very cheerful voice floated about the bedlam. “Alright, time’s up.” Starscream was back, apparently. “Our glorious leader has returned. Good to see he’s clean, now let him up you flying glitches.”

There were groans of disappointment, but the armada backed off. Optimus struggled immediately to his pedes when his limbs were finally released. He rubbed fluid out of his optics and staggered forward. He winced and snapped his interface paneling closed as Starscream smirked at him.

Optimus took a moment to lean against the wall to regain his balance.

In the meantime Skywarp hurried over to a clear alcove and frantically rinsed himself off, knowing his leader will want his report immediately. He scrubbed himself frantically then stood back, subspaced a rag and started drying his frame while he tapped his internal comm in his wrist.

“I have to give Megs my report,” Skywarp called out to Thundercracker, and with a _wharp,_ vanished and re-materialized into the throne room, where Lord Megatron was just settling down onto his throne.

Ion Storm had returned in the meantime with two energon cubes, and Thundercracker offered them up to Prime while Starscream frowned at his trine mate. Thundercracker pointedly ignored the pit-spawned glitch that was his Air Commander.

“Drink this. You are going to need it.”

There was a note of apology in Thundercracker’s vocalizer, but there was nothing Thundercracker could do about Megatron and whatever was going to happen in the throne room. Optimus downed the fuel quickly and tried to ignore his growing sense of dread.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with. I am sick of waiting for... whatever.” Starscream pulled on him and led him down the hall. “Remember the plan,” he hissed. The armada watched them go, and several of them seemed worried.

Optimus was quickly led towards the throne room, and he stopped just outside the entrance and set his pedes. He in-vented and remembered Divebomb and his spark lurched.

“Give me a minute, please.” Optimus swallowed, and set his denta, trying to recover his focus and mentally prepare for the verbal battle ahead… and whatever misery was to follow directly thereafter.

Starscream tilted his helm and shrugged, "Just a minute. It's all you have anyway as Skywarp is almost done with his report."

Curious for Megatron's mood, Starscream stepped forward and craned his neck to glance inside the throne room. He grinned at the heavy, powerful frame waiting on the throne; Megatron had perked up at the sight of Starscream idling in the entrance, though he was forcing himself to pay attention to Skywarp's report regardless. Starscream watched as Megatron sat back on his throne, fingers digging into the armrest of his throne in anticipation as Skywarp walked away, report completed.

Starscream sighed and waved at Optimus to head inside. He was relieved that the intense excitement Megatron was obviously feeling was not directed at him for once. _Haven't seen him this excited since that time I tried to kill him with the frame immobilizer but got shot instead and had to just stand there and take it while he did that thing with his...mmm._

Now there was a fond memory.

Then Starscream rolled his optics as Optimus swallowed and hesitated, unconsciously planting his pedes for dread. "Come on, best not keep glorious leader waiting,” and the merciless Air Commander grasped Optimus by his shoulder and hauled him toward the entrance.

“Stick it in neutral, Prime,” Starscream hissed as Optimus clearly wanted to struggle somehow. “He’s not going to kill you. You are way too valuable to him, believe me. You can’t plot against him and you can’t even defend yourself. You are absolutely perfect for someone like him.”

Starscream frowned again at the words leaving his vocalizer. Then he shook his helm and pushed Optimus into the throne room and whatever punishment he would find therein.

***

 

The Decepticon Supreme Commander was both furiously angry and wildly relieved to see Prime.

Megatron watched as Prime was pulled into the throne room by his Air Commander. Both emotions roiled within him, combining into a strut-deep excitement. He almost stood up, but then forced himself to stay seated to retain his air of authority. Instead, he threw out a leg with its heavy pede, sprawling out over his throne as if he were indifferent to the two mechs approaching.

Such a lie.

Then Megatron frowned as the noise of his throne room intruded on his thoughts. He hadn’t called for general assembly, but there were several ‘cons bolting through the door as Starscream sauntered forward, with even more crowding in. Someone had started a rumor that he was going to let the rank and file at Prime as punishment for deserting, but that was not his intention.

The atmosphere in the throne room should not be that of a party, as Megatron didn't intend one. But at least half of his standing army was assembling into the throne room anyway. Jostling and shoving for a good position, complete with cubes of energon, they were yammering at each other excitedly and causing him considerable amounts of annoyance. He considered ordering the room cleared, but decided to ignore them instead. Annoying as they were, they did add to the sense of threat around his throne.

Megatron forgot the crowd then, distracted by the blue and red truck-former being pulled reluctantly forward by the Air Commander. He eagerly watched his returned Prime and suppressed a feeling of concern over the unevenness in Prime’s reluctant pede steps and his dim – but still very clean – plating. He saw Starscream help Prime forward, guiding him towards the throne. Then left Prime standing a few feet in front of Megatron.

“Glorious Leader,” Starscream boasted respectfully as he stepped forward, “I have located your lost Autobot myself, and returned him to you.”

Starscream gave him a pointed look. Megatron just snorted at him in dismissal. His sharp glare conveyed that Starscream hadn’t avoided the scrapping his leader was planning for him, at least not yet. Stepping away, Starscream took his customary place standing to the left of Megatron. He crossed his arms and set his wings disparagingly. His optics narrowed and he watched Prime with keen interest.

“Prime, you have returned to me,” said Megatron as he eyed Prime carefully. There was a dangerous glint in his too-bright eyes. “I was concerned for you. I had assumed you were taken by Sweeps. We searched for you for _days._ ” Megatron bared his razor sharp denta.

Those had been _very_ unhappy days.

“I had left you under the care of my second,” Megatron continued as he gestured at Starscream. “Tell me what happened.” His voice was deceptively gentle, for he already knew the truth. Prime had fled. If his berth mate tried to deceive him the punishment would be severe.

Starscream frowned implicitly at Prime and made a subtle gesture with his helm.

_Don’t mess this up._

***

 

Optimus swallowed carefully.

Then the room whirled around him as another wave of vertigo hit. Everything was streaks of color and he wanted to lay down, but didn't dare. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze that was threatening to overtake his mind.

“Answer me!” Megatron roared at him, and Optimus jerked his helm up.

Optimus fell back a step for the furious anger in Megatron’s voice, and dropped his helm in fake submission. He had already prepared himself for this and spoke as clearly and quickly as possible. He didn’t want it to look like he was choosing his words. Megatron would most certainly force the truth out of him if Megatron thought he was playing games.

“Apologies, Leader. I struggle to think.” Hopefully it would help hide his muddying attempt to cover the truth. Optimus wasn’t really good at lying anyway, much less with the code policing him.

Megatron leaned forward aggressively. “I do not forgive it. You have been missing for days. I am not pleased with you. Tell me what happened.”

Optimus took a steadying breath and began. “We were attacked by Cyclonus and his Sweeps. Starscream was pulled away into battle. I heard him call an order at me, but it was unclear.” This was mostly true, though he toed a very narrow line between truth and obfuscation. “Frag off” can mean several things, depending on context. He was really, really reaching though, and the code stirred within his mind, but fortunately did not lash him. “I chose to interpret his order to my own benefit, and fled.”

“What did he order you to do?” Megatron demanded, eyeing Starscream suspiciously.

“His order was unclear,” Optimus repeated. “His fight was taking him further away and I yelled at him to return, and he responded with a command.” Optimus stuck to his ambiguous story as best he could. He had to provide only vague details and let Megatron fill in the gaps, incorrectly, on his own. “I… assumed that he wanted me to stop distracting him while he was fighting Cyclonus, and I used that assumption as an opportunity to flee.”

It was dangerously wordy and the best he could do.

It certainly wouldn’t stand up to any real questioning and the coding was twinging dangerously in his mind. Fortunately his efforts were sufficient enough for Starscream to work with. “I ordered you back to base!” and Starscream took an aggressive step forward. “I know I was far above you, but my order was clear!” Starscream had no problems lying to Megatron, and he leapt at the chance the vagueness offered, filling in the gaps with furious determination.

“You were higher then perhaps you realized,” Optimus offered, carefully avoiding Megatron’s suspicious glower. He didn’t have to be truthful with Starscream. “Your order was unclear to me. I… used that to my advantage.”

Starscream glowered at him and then turned and hissed at Megatron. “You can hardly hold me responsible for that.” This was going far better than he could have hoped, and his wings canted back to a more relaxed angle.

Megatron watched Optimus cannily for a moment, clearly considering his words. The likely purpose of the vague answers was not lost on him. But he sat back in his throne and seemed satisfied. “Well then, it sounds like you are taking full responsibility for your own escape, Prime. You do realize if this is true then you will be punished for intentionally deserting your Decepticon brothers during a battle?”

And that was the choice he had made, Optimus realized, and probably why Megatron was not aggressively chasing after the details. He could have avoided whatever punishment Megatron intended if he had simply told the truth; that Starscream had ordered him to leave. He could have easily spun the story in the other direction, telling Megatron that he had been forced to leave and in doing so, perhaps spare himself punishment entirely.

 _I could have made this very bad for Starscream,_ he realized. Perhaps that was part of what Starscream was really afraid of. He hadn’t considered blaming Starscream to save himself but he was sure Starscream had worried about it. Admittedly a very small part of him wished he had. Especially after Starscream had so callously returned him to a life of slavery. But he needed Starscream’s gambit for any hope of a swift escape.

Megatron narrowed his eyes, but still appeared to accept the story, even if he didn’t actually believe it. Megatron’s flared plating relaxed and smoothed back to his protoform. Decepticons were not so fixated on the truth. Results are what matter and Optimus will be back in his leader’s berth tonight. Unfortunately by taking the blame to spare Starscream’s plating, the issue now was a matter of punishment.

Optimus dropped his helm as his vision blurred and the fever surged within him. His optics caught on the hook in the floor. It was the same one Divebomb had been tethered to and he was keenly aware of it. It gleamed harsh and cruel and unyielding, and he found himself afraid. That would be the true price to be paid ... but apparently Megatron wanted something more from him then mere crass entertainment.

“Tell me Prime, what were you thinking when you fled me? Did you flee as a frightened slave escaping his master?” and Megatron paused for a long moment, tilting his head and narrowing his optics. “Or did you desert your Decepticon brothers in mid-battle for your own purposes, disobeying Starscream’s order?”

Megatron held up his hand to stop him when Optimus stepped forward unsteadily, firmly intending to answer that yes, he was a slave, and yes he was trying to flee as one. He would never consider himself a Decepticon.

“Consider the question carefully, Prime.” Megatron said and his voice was steeped in warning as he stared aggressively at his captive. “And I do not require you to be truthful in your answer.”

Optimus blinked at that.

“If you fled as a fearful slave,” and Megatron leaned forward as he carefully explained, “then I will be taking you immediately back to my quarters, and you will be dealt with there, in privacy and with great mercy. However, you will then be tethered to the floor of my quarters for your own good, with orders to remain there indefinitely. You will lose all privileges provided to date, until I am satisfied you no longer fear me so utterly as to seek your own death in escape.”

Optimus’ spark reeled at the thought. A tether placed on him by his owner would mean he would have no chance of escape at all.

“If however, you disobeyed a direct order while attempting to further your own goals for your own reasons then you will be treated as any other of my soldiers. You will be punished as one of us, as one of my Decepticons. Once your punishment is complete, you will be forgiven, and all will be as it was.”

Megatron didn’t bother to specify what the punishment was to be as he had yet to decide, but he heard his soldiers cheer around him and frowned. He decided to continue ignoring them for now.

Megatron sat back in his throne and bared his sharp denta in satisfaction. “So tell me, Prime. What are you? Are you a slave, or are you one of my Decepticons?”

Optimus swallowed, seeing what Megatron was up to. But he couldn’t afford to lose anything if he intended to escape. Obviously Megatron wanted him to choose to be a Decepticon with the privileges that came with the designation, and in doing so willingly accept Megatron as his leader, acknowledging his authority and accepting whatever his punishment was to be.

“I disobeyed an order, and fled for my own reasons.” Optimus made his choice and dropped his helm in dread. He refused to call himself a Decepticon, but he couldn’t give up what little freedom remained to him. The fever was writhing through him, and his mind felt unbearably hot. The room wavered, blurry and indistinct around him.

Optimus suddenly wavered on his pedes and then felt himself pitch forward as reality lurched sickeningly around him. Then the room faded away and ethereal light surrounded him. He looked up as another fever dream has overwhelmed his mind. _.._

 

_…The other stood over him, smiling, laughing, delighted._

_Arms lifted, hands settled down to rest on his shoulders._

_Glimmering lip plates curved and parted and spoke._

_Welcome home._

_***_

 

Megatron leaned back in surprise as Prime’s optics rolled back and he pitched forward, landing face down in his leader’s lap. Megatron blinked and his lip plating quirked. “Missed me that much, eh Prime?”

With a chuckle, Megatron looked down at the feverish frame now half seated in his lap. He watched as Prime shook his helm and pushed himself up while struggling to come out of the feverish state. Then his legs gave out again, and he fell forward limply. He couldn’t seem to steady himself or break the hold the fever held over his mind. It was a firm reminder of the current state of his old enemy.

Megatron reached out and pulled on Prime. Hefting him, Megatron held him up by his throat plating, the grip less threatening and more supportive.

 _He certainly wouldn’t last a full week on his own,_ Megatron considered, amusement threatening to overtake his anger. He looked over the feverish body and considered the answer Prime had given him. He was pleased with it as he had intended Prime to take a few steps closer to becoming a Decepticon today. His anger faded and his plating eased flush to his frame in satisfaction.

 _There is no point in punishing him._ _This pathetic state is punishment enough. The slave coding is starting to shut him down. He barely functions, best take him back now._

Decision made, Megatron loosened his hold and allowed Prime to settle onto his knees. Nestled between Megatron's legs, Prime's helm fell back into Megatron's lap and he chuckled again, thoroughly amused.

Pleased with how everything had turned out, Megatron was about to pick up his captive when the noise of the throne room finally intruded on his concentration. He was instantly annoyed to see all of the red optics staring expectantly in his direction. Many of these mechs should be on interior and close exterior patrol. Instead here they were, clearly neglecting their duties.

Megatron glanced over at his distracted-looking Air Commander and was just about to snarl at him to handle it when he caught Starscream looking sideways at the shaky mech notched between his leader’s legs. The seeker armada was foremost at the edges of the crowd with frowns on their faces. Starscream’s normally unconcerned and calculating expression was replaced with something that was clearly pensive as he turned his gaze towards the hook in the floor.

Starscream disliked the sensation his spark kept pulsing at him anytime he bothered to consider the reality of the red and blue mech currently on his knees awaiting a punishment he didn’t deserve. Frowning, Starscream glanced at his leader as if he was thinking of actually _saying something_ and then realized Megatron was staring at him with a quirked brow ridge. Remembering his policy of never sticking out his plating for others, Starscream merely pushed the thought away and smirked at Megatron instead.

The room was full of his noisy soldiers, but even so a tiny flicker of movement caught Megatron’s optic; for standing in the main entrance of his throne room was Soundwave.

In that same instant Megatron saw Starscream start moving away from the corner of his eye, hurriedly leaving the throne room out a side exit. He blinked after Starscream, and then inclined his helm in greeting at Soundwave.

But Soundwave didn’t return the gesture. Instead, there was a burst of sound over Megatron’s internal comm. The clipped recording played for him by his communications officer was old and grainy, and it stood out over the insipid noise of the warriors around him.

“-the _excesses_ of the senate, the abhorrent slave coding, their vile Empurata, these abominable practices have _no place_ in the new order. I pledge to you that if you follow me, your new leader, I will _burn_ their taint from our world, leaving nothing of them but _ashes_ -”

Megatron remembered his fiery speeches, every single one of them, and this one had been given to masses of angry, downtrodden, and starving Cybertronians in the tunnels under Kaon. His own voice thundered at him from across the eons, from the very beginning of the Great War. The disapproval, the sheer disappointment emanating from Soundwave was palatable even across the distance between them, as Soundwave dropped his helm to look pointedly at the hook in the floor.

“I have no intention of giving him to the rank and file,” Megatron snarled back at Soundwave over his internal comms. “I was merely making a point to Prime.” His vocalizer held tones of outrage and threat, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Soundwave inclined his helm at that, made a gesture of apology, and then strode away.

Megatron glowered after his retreating back plates. He could count the times on one servo that Soundwave had ever directed such disapproval at him and it unsettled him. Scowling, he closed his comm channel and returned his attention to the helpless frame venting quietly in his lap. Prime was still lost in a fever dream, his fields still filled with fear. Megatron reached down and cupped his captive's face and lifted it carefully. He sighed as Prime's optics remained glazed and distant.

Appearances must be kept.

“Prime. I order you to wake up and look at me.” Megatron watched as Prime struggled to obey.

Finally Prime lifted his helm and looked up at him with glassy optics. “Do you have anything to say to me?” Megatron asked and watched as Prime swallowed and Megatron knew he was thinking of the tether, thinking of Divebomb and his choking plea for mercy.

“Mercy, leader,” Prime murmured at the prompting. He was prepared to say anything necessary to avoid the hook in the floor. “I was wrong to leave you. I understand that now.”

Megatron smiled, remembering the previous plea from Divebomb, who had invaded Megatron’s base intending to murder him, and then refused to submit. As far as Megatron was concerned, Divebomb had gotten exactly what he deserved, and Megatron bared his sharp denta. But he knew Prime had merely fled him in fear.  So be it. _I know you merely repeat a plea you have heard before, but those words are more truth then you know._

“You aren’t going to forgive him, are you?” Motormaster growled out his disappointment over the sounds of the milling crowd of Decepticon soldiers.

Megatron glanced up, deeply annoyed to see many, many sets of loitering optics staring back at him. Most of his Decepticons are still hopeful for a show. He bared his denta yet again, roaring out his intense displeasure for the layabouts.

“Did I call for an assembly!? Astrotrain, you are on corridor patrol! Motormaster, you are stationed at the distillery! What are you doing in here?”

Stuttering something about checking for intruders, Astrotrain edged for the exit as quickly as possible. The other Decepticons scattered like pheasants at the sound of Megatron's ire. The seeker armada looked relieved as they filed out, some of them glancing back at their enslaved new faction mate, satisfied that he will not be ruined by the grubby-fingered grounders.

Megatron grunted in satisfaction as the room cleared, and reached down to touch Prime, running servos over his plating and listening to him ventilate. He slipped two fingers into Prime’s intakes and was not surprised to feel the dreadful heat emanating from the oral metal near Prime’s processor. The fever would need to be dealt with soon.

“Prime,” Megatron gave his berth mate a gentle shake. “Can you walk?” He watched his berth mate try to focus, and fail. Then he scooped the confused Prime up without another word and carried him out of the throne room and towards their quarters.

In an empty corridor, with his anger spent, Megatron succumbed to the happy pulse of his spark. He slid to a stop for a moment and pulled his companion close, giving him a long mouthing kiss to his neck in a spark-felt welcome home. Squeezing Prime against his heavy frame, he took Prime's intakes, deepening the kiss. Then he tightened his grip, startled, as Prime shuddered in an empty overload just from the close contact of his plating.

Megatron frowned at the feel of it, reflected in Prime’s frustrated EM fields.

It felt…strange.

Not good.

Megatron checked, surprised to feel that the charge hadn't abated in the slightest. His fingers withdrew, still coated with lubricant, and he continued down the corridor in haste. Reaching out with one servo as he walked, he traced another glyph across the feverish body, fingertip gliding across the shivering abdominal.

 

***

 

Megatron would have enjoyed relieving his captive of the fever charge, except for the empty moans.

They started near his quarters when he slipped two fingers inside Prime as he walked, surprised for how wet he already was. Stroking inside, he intended to provide a bit of pleasure to help relax Prime before taking care of the problem.

Megatron was surprised when Prime shivered and immediately overloaded around his fingers. He felt the release shudder through Prime, and frowned at the frustrated cry that followed. He could tell from Prime’s electromagnetic field that the spasm had held only a faint ghost of sensation, and no true release of charge. Then Prime overloaded again while simply being carried by his owner, a spasm near-empty of pleasure. Megatron’s scowl deepened as he felt even that barest hint of pleasant sensation fade away. When he stepped through the entrance to his quarters, Prime was lost to frustration and confusion.

Megatron sat down in a chair, holding the other tightly. He reached down and cupped Prime's array as the other squirmed. There was no pleasant sensation of any type in Prime’s frame. He was surprised to feel the charge was still pulsing very strongly, after multiple overloads, completely unabated. He stroked the soft metal with gentle fingers, very displeased.

 _This is why the senate refused to release their slaves, even in the face of worldwide condemnation for the practice._ He scowled at the thought, realizing the truth. _Beyond profiting from the service of their slaves, every three days they would have a mech to play with, locked in this state._

Even as it disgusted him, Megatron could understand the appeal as Prime's frantic valve clenched tightly down on his probing servos, furious charge crackling around them and through the soft metal folds. Taking Prime now would be nothing short of instant ecstasy. But the thought made him uneasy. The realization that he was enjoying Prime as his ancient, hated enemies had enjoyed their slaves rankled. For the first time since Optimus was dropped into his lap, their shared situation made him uncomfortable.

 _They did this intentionally to torment their slaves; I did not install the slave coding on Prime and I did not leave him unfulfilled to suffer in this state,_ Megatron reminded himself. _He abandoned **me**. I will never neglect him to the point of this degradation,_ he swore to himself and with that feeble justification the uncomfortable feeling passed.

Then Megatron abandoned all of his plans for the night.

Instead of the pleasure-drenched apology he'd intended to coax from Prime during what he'd thought would be honest (however intensely needed) love-making, he simply laid the other mech out on the floor.

This torture-state was unacceptable, and he slid over the other frame, intending to put an end to the misery Prime was trapped in. Straddling Prime's waist, he cycled open his own interface panels. He had to manually pressurize his spike as he was far from aroused by what he was feeling from Prime. Then he heard something stutter from Prime’s vocalizer, something he had not yet been able to coax from Prime during their previous play.

Megatron stared down at Prime, remembering the carefully planned battles, the powerful grappling embrace, grand threats, the furious blows, and lashing commentary launched back and forth. He remembered the dignity and the mental resolve, the endless strength, and quiet confidence the other possessed, all the things he had enjoyed so much about his old nemesis.

All of that was gone now.

The choked sounds of begging dumped a bucket of cold water over his helm. The body beneath him had been turned from a sentient being to a true living toy. He felt the other writhe beneath him, tugging at his plating, his sobs and pleading fully caused by the fever... _his_ Prime wasn't even in this room anymore, gone and replaced by this... thing. This vile, forced imitation of passion.

 _Enough of this,_ he thought, utterly disgusted with the slave coding.

Megatron still couldn’t help but moan as his spikehead parted the folds and he sank down, filling that lovely-tight space to the hilt. The furious charge hit his unprepared array like a sudden storm. His reluctantly extended spike fully pressurized within an instant. Prime's valve was burning hot, slick with lubricants, and the fever charge was intense. The sensation was incredible, but only for him. There was nothing but empty, useless misery for the slave beneath him.

Prime bucked against him, crying out unhappily as another empty overload hit. He cried out again and Megatron settled his weight to pin him to the floor.

“I am satisfied with you,” Megatron assured his feverish, agitated companion. “Take what you need from me. Do it now.”

Prime threw his head up and back and _thrashed_ beneath Megatron, who didn't even have time to thrust or otherwise move. Prime overloaded hard, his valve clenching wildly around the spike deep within it, and released the intense fever charge with a frantic cry.

Megatron grit his denta at the furious shock of pleasure that rushed into his array. With a soft hiss, he released as the other trembled feebly beneath him, refraining from thrusting or other intimate movement for the intensity of the moment. This wasn't what he wanted from Prime, and he was gratified when he felt the fever charge completely dissipate and Prime’s churning field ease back into something more normal.

Falling back with a moan of relief, Prime lay venting for a long moment, and then began to squirm while trying to pull himself free. He wanted away from the controlling weight of Megatron above him and pawed weakly at Megatron's frame. With some reluctance, Megatron relinquished his controlling grip and let Prime crawl out from beneath him. He remained quiet and watched as Prime rolled over onto his front, huffing in relief, steaming transfluid puddling beneath him.

Megatron sat back, frowning. Not for the first time was he glad the senate was dead. They had truly deserved their fates.

 _I will never let you suffer this state again,_ he promised as he laid his heavy servo on the small of Prime’s back strut. He was gratified as normalcy returned to Prime's electromagnetic fields, feeling Prime's frame grow lax as his breathing returned to a steady, easy rhythm.

 

* * *

 

Soundwave walked steadily down the hallway, his treads resounding off the thin metal of the debilitated ship surrounding him.

The spy was lost in thought, and continued to follow after the ever elusive Air Commander. Soundwave had a problem, and ironically the only mech he felt could properly do something about it was currently doing his damnedest to avoid the communications officer for some strange reason.

Soundwave had no idea what Starscream was up to. He was certain it had to be some sort of plot against Megatron, but his careful investigations hadn’t turned up anything.

The seeker’s absence from his day to day functioning had been pleasant at first as the two mechs never really got along. Something about the Air Commander constantly trying to kill Soundwave’s beloved leader.

But as the days passed and Starscream went to great lengths to avoid him, he had grown more and more concerned. He had spoken at length with Lord Megatron regarding it, but Megatron had finally just shrugged off his disquiet, content to wait for Starscream to pull whatever little plot he was hatching, and refused to follow his third-in-command’s suggestions to keep his distance from the traitorous seeker.

Megatron had just laughed at that, and it didn’t take a telepath to figure out how well that suggestion was followed. Without Prime to keep his attention, Megatron was consistently sporting several red and white paint streaks over telling areas of his body.

Soundwave didn’t approve of Megatron and Starscream’s stormy and yet very committed relationship, but he had no say in it. Megatron always brushed him off every time he did try to mention it.

“If I am so slow-witted and weak to fall for any of Starscream’s little schemes, then I deserve to be defeated.” Megatron had always maintained, laughing.

But as much as he didn’t approve of Megatron and Starscream’s relationship, the situation with the Autobot was far, far worse. Power corrupted, and the sort of power over another that code slavery provided was the worst sort of corruption. Slavery was unhealthy for all involved and he was worried for his leader.

Soundwave cut across and dropped down the air shaft that was left after the floor had collapsed on Starscream and Prime some time ago, intending to cut off the casually fleeing seeker currently several floors below him. He dropped down the shaft, but even as he fell he heard the sound of firing thrusters, and there was no sign of the seeker when he landed.

The communications officer stood and stared down the empty corridor for a moment, and felt overwhelmed with the sheer stupidity of it all.

“Ravage, eject. Operation: Confrontation.”

Soundwave returned to striding down the hall as the dark mechanical panther darted the other direction.

 

* * *

 

Prime was still stretched out on his front when Megatron returned with some supplies. Now Prime's in-vents were very calm and he appeared to be drowsing, his vents working evenly and his face plates relaxed in a light recharge.

Megatron sat down next to him, his spark content within him for the first time since he had lost his precious companion. He set the supplies down; a bowl of steaming hot fluid with cleanser, a clean rag, a few tubes of medication, and some basic wax. A few canisters of coolant joined the supplies along with two cubes of energon.

He reached out and carefully gathered up his companion, doing his best not to wake Prime from his recharge. He rolled Prime over and arranged him in an intimate tangle in his lap. He enjoyed these interactions, enjoyed handling his captive Autobot.

He was pleased when, other than a light murmur, Prime did not wake. Clearly he was still used to Megatron’s presence and the feel of heavy servos on his plating. Prime may fear him, but at least his unconscious frame now trusted the hands touching him. He did note with satisfaction that except for his messy array, Prime's plating was scrupulously clean.

He fed Prime his rations for the night, first the energon and then the coolant.

Prime stirred for that, engine rumbling, but quickly sank back into recharge when nothing alarming happened to him. Instead, he sleepily worked his intakes, swallowing and swallowing down the sweet fluids as a powerful hand massaged his throat plating in encouragement.

Then Megatron soaked the rag and squeezed the fluid carefully over the intimate ports, and bathed the messy array. The separate protective plates had remained open as he had ordered Prime to leave it that way, allowing him only his primary cover. But after he finished cleaning him, he murmured at Prime to close the secondary valve cover.

He could tell that port was done for the night.

Returning to the rest of the array, Megatron quickly cleaned around the spike sheath, intending to finish up and then take Prime to bed with him. They could catch up in the morning. Then he blinked. The tip of Prime's spike was peeking out at him, which was a surprise. Normally Prime's connector stayed retracted, hidden as far within its housing as physically possible.

"Feeling better, are we?" Megatron murmured.

Curious, he reached in and traced a fingertip under the spikehead, and it extended out a little further. Amused for the shy greeting, he stroked further, tracing his fingertip along the tiny slit at the tip.

Warmth pooled in his array for the feel of his captive's tightening metal, but he pushed away thoughts of play. Not tonight... _I should let him sleep. We can take this up in the morning. Today was rough on him. I should practice my sense of patience._

Still, he needed to check and clean Prime's spike, and this was better then just reaching in and yanking. Thus he coaxed Prime's spike from its protective sheath ridge by ridge, keeping at it until Prime was fully erect and little pearls of pre-fluid began beading at the tip.

Then, holding the firm length captive in one fist, he inspected his new toy. There _were_ still a few trouble spots, which he medicated carefully, but he was pleased to see it was looking vastly better. Clearly ready for play... _and such a lovely shape too,_ he thought, admiring the bright blue biolights running along the length. There were any number of ways he would deeply enjoy this handsome new addition to his evenings.

 _Not tonight,_ he reminded himself again. _Patience. Today was one hell of a day for him._

The beading had become a tiny trickle. Prime’s fields were still even, and for the first time Megatron could feel the Autobot’s clear enjoyment of the touches to his spike, although tempered with unease.

Megatron made a pleased noise and dipped his rag into the warm fluid and returned himself to task. Bathing the warm appendage, he was scrubbing gently when he heard Prime murmur. He felt the connector pressurize just a little tighter for the handling. Another soft noise from Prime.

_Patience. I am practicing patience._

His fingers circled the cluster of sensor nodes around the tip and Prime made a tiny movement - just the littlest hint of a thrust - and Megatron decided that patience was overrated.

***

 

Pleasant sensations coaxed Optimus out of his light recharge.

Optimus stilled himself - had he been moving? - and pulled in a deep in-vent.

Optimus wasn’t sure what had happened after he had fallen face first into Megatron’s lap and asked for mercy. He remembered flashes of confusion and then frantic unpleasant sensation and the fever had completely claimed him after that. The fever and the aching charge in his array were completely gone now. His optics cycled open for the realization and he quickly figured out the source of the pleasing sensation coming from his array.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it?”

Megatron was stroking his ridged metal, tracing along the biolights. The touch seemed more admiring then intentionally arousing, the servos wandering up and over the delicate plates. The black servos left soothing sensation in their wake as the spike was touched and examined. He could feel Megatron’s extended field as it thrummed calmly; satisfied and unhurried.

“It could be left in peace much longer, and I would be satisfied with that.” Optimus bit his glossa then, trying to remind himself to not engage. He realized he was helpless on his back plates again, but he knew that had been coming as soon as Starscream found him.

Megatron made that thoughtful noise again, but did not release his connector.

Now that he was back in this room, the interactions between himself and Megatron felt depressingly… normal. Their interfacing was so frequent that he'd stopped being fearful of random brutality or violence during intimacy. He noted the medication set out near him and relaxed a little further. He had also been medicated frequently and the sight of his mostly healed, erect spike being stroked by dark servos didn’t fill him with fear like it would have a month ago.

Optimus _was_ worried about something though. “I don’t remember my punishment,” he looked up at Megatron cautiously. “What happened to me in the throne room?” Optimus didn't really want to know, but he needed to. He could feel that his valve was clean and cycled down in a resting state and that his secondary plate was closed. Obviously Megatron was responsible, and he certainly didn’t feel like he had been pounded through the floor by a mass of blood thirsty Decepticons.

“Unlike Divebomb, you submitted to my authority and asked for my mercy and I chose to give it.” Megatron canted his helm, not taking covetous eyes off the captive spike in his fingers. “You were wise to do so and you never made it to the hook, to the vast disappointment of your Decepticon brothers.”

Optimus released the ventilation he hadn’t realized he was holding. He slowly relaxed, and then remembered himself. _He expects gratitude. Give it to him, it costs me nothing. Remember to be submissive._

“Thank you,” he said while staring up at the ceiling and Megatron’s field pulsed with satisfaction from the words. “I don’t intend to give you trouble or challenge you,” he continued, feeling unusually relaxed as fingers continued to gently please along his spike plating and the electromagnetic fields entwined around his own remained calm and pleasant.

“There is nothing here on this world worth fighting over anyway, even if I could,” he muttered. “I was looking for my…” He cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. He really shouldn't be providing the mech holding him any sort of information or encouragement of any type. It wasn't good that he was having so much trouble stuffing himself back into that slave persona.

 _I shouldn’t be engaging him at all,_ he reminded himself harshly, _for any reason._

Too late.

Megatron was keenly interested in him now. “Your Autobots. Obviously you were looking for them. Of course I understand that. Did you find your medic?” He continued to stroke along Optimus' spike, clearly enjoying Optimus' relaxed state and loosened vocalizer. He so rarely just chatted with Megatron; usually he guarded his silence and would only speak if forced.

“No.” Optimus answered firmly. It was the truth. He didn’t have to offer more information then was asked of him, thankfully.

“Unfortunate. What of the others?”

“Yes. I found them.” Optimus answered. The words emerged in a reluctant rumble. He didn't want to share his pain with his mortal enemy, but he had to answer. “They didn’t make it. Ratchet’s warning was correct.” He couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of loss, even knowing it would flood out over his fields.

 

***

“All dead,” Megatron repeated thoughtfully, remembering the writing on the walls of the crevasse. He felt Prime start to sink into a depression, and he frowned. That was the last thing he wanted.

Megatron knew a good way to distract Prime, however. Clearly Prime’s spike was up for some attention, and he cycled open his own valve cover, sighing as the cool air kissed over his hyper sensitive mesh. He would normally never allow anyone near it, but tonight was different. Prime was his - utterly and completely - and he cherished that beyond measure. Prime was safe to interact with in a way no other mech could ever be.

“You aren’t serious,” he heard Prime mutter.

Blue optics looked over the open, dark-colored valve with bright red etching beneath him, interested in spite of himself. For whatever the rest of him wanted, Prime’s spike was certainly ready and it had been a long time.

“Yes, I am serious. Take your time, as you need. We can’t recharge with you amped up like this, anyway.” Megatron pulled the other mech up as he laid himself back. He spread out his legs, tilting out a thigh. He pulled the other over his plating, helping position Prime over his open and waiting valve.

Hot drops of pre-fluid dripped down, pattering over his valve. Prime frowned at him. “You are the reason I am amped up.”

“Mhm. I must do a better job then as obviously you aren’t ready for me yet-” He reached out as if to grip Prime's spike to further play with it, and Prime saved himself further mech-handling by sinking down and taking the valve beneath him.

_Oh. That was a tight fit._

Megatron could tell Prime was thinking the same thing as he sucked in a breath while sliding in, his spike became a source of pleasure for the first time in a long recovery.

Waiting for a moment - ever the polite lover - Prime held himself still as Megatron's valve adjusted to his presence. Then Prime shivered for the feel of Megatron's valve cycling down to clasp him, clearly relishing the feel of the tightening passage.

Megatron smiled faintly when Prime hesitated, not sure what to do with his servos, unsure what Megatron would allow. Grabbing his hands, Megatron guided them to his hips and encouraged Prime to move with a firm, upwards thrust. _Like that. You know how to do this._

Then it was Megatron's turn to shiver as as Prime pulled back, and then slowly slid back in, feeling out the depth, the slickness, finding Megatron more then ready for him. Another slow thrust, and Megatron was beyond pleased to feel the sweet bloom of pleasure winding through Prime’s electromagnetic fields, rapidly drowning out all other sensations and emotions.

 _This was a good idea,_ Megatron decided. _Not my favorite position, but I can work with this._

"Mmm," Prime murmured, swallowing carefully, enjoying himself despite of himself and then he stopped holding back and finally, fully, bent himself to task. Settling down over Megatron, he began a steady thrusting rhythm, expertly working the soft mesh, his spike-ridges catching on nodes and building a good friction-charge.

“Primus,” Prime gasped in spite of himself, spike awash with pleasure, “Didn’t think I would ever be using this again.” He threw his own helm back then and moaned and thrust and thrust into the hot, wet heat.

“I can imagine.” Megatron stifled the urge to reach out and grab Prime, to squeeze him closer and control him. Instead, he merely relaxed and kept his hands out and to his sides as Prime continued to drive into him. “Harder,” he hissed as he threw his helm back and closed his optics and relished the sensations flooding his sensor net, the scripe-scrape of his own frame against the ground, the building warmth and lubricants puddling beneath his aft.

“We will do this again,” Megatron promised with a gasp, greatly enjoying Prime's efforts. “A reversal of our situation seems to embolden you.”

“You,” Prime hissed down at him suddenly, “have no concept of my situation!” Prime glowered at him furiously, raising up and driving back in, taking out his flare of irritation on the soft mesh beneath him without really realizing it. Yet he couldn’t stay annoyed, his irritation lost in a whirlwind of joyous tightness within his array... overload was looming ever closer.

Megatron was delighted at the display. _There you are,_ he thought. All semblance of the dreadful false passion was gone.

Prime, his optics bright and flashing, thrust hard into Megatron beneath him, strangling back moans of very real enjoyment. He ground down against Megatron's ceiling nodes with plating flared. His fields were vibrant now as he worked over the incredibly tight valve beneath him.

“Then tell me all about it,” Megatron gasp-laughed, and Prime blinked down at him - the coding had translated that as an order.

“With your spike,” Megatron clarified, and made a hushing gesture at the other mech. _Don't stop now! Keep going!_

Prime rumbled at him, and did exactly that.

***

 

It was well past midnight when Optimus awoke, his optics cycling open. His systems came back online with a start, but he didn’t move. Then his processor and memory core rebooted. Memory-files of using his spike on Megatron rushed back to him, and then he remembered falling into a mutual recharge with Megatron on the floor shortly after.

They were now on the berth together.

He was heavily entwined with Megatron, his helm nestled between the Megatron's neck and shoulder. He was on his front, with Megatron sprawled out beneath him. Strong arms were wrapped around him with a firm, possessive grip. One arm was around his waist and laying across his upper back while the other sported a strong grip on his aft. His own arms were tucked around the other, servos pinned and warm between Megatron’s back plating and the berth.

Deep in recharge, Megatron's fields were thrumming with satisfaction. His engine was purring with a gentle vibration. The heat emanating from him was trapped between them, the warmth a welcome contrast to the otherwise cold air.

Megatron murmured in his recharge and squeezed his arms a little tighter around his returned companion. Then he adjusted his lower body slightly in his sleep, and Optimus felt his spike twitch. He was startled to realize that his connector was still fully pressurized, still sheathed deep within the other.

Megatron had done this with him many, many times, and now... now he understood why. The feel of his valve was blissful around his spike, a low level connection with just the mildest hum from the engine beneath him, cycling over in steady recharge. Not enough to disturb rest, but pleasant enough to be deeply relaxing.

...Megatron must have carried him like this to berth. If he was still within him in the morning, would Megatron be upset? Unsure and not wanting to risk it, Optimus tried to pull out.

But Megatron's valve was clenched tight around him, still claiming him. He didn't want to wake Megatron either, and stopped moving as he was only succeeding in rousing his array. Still trapped, his spike twitched again as the warm passage remained tight from little use. To be honest, his connector was perfectly happy where it was - more than ready for another go in fact - but he forced himself to relax.

Thankfully there was no other movement, and Megatron did not stir... Megatron was completely satiated.

So was he.

He sighed when he realized there was nothing he could do about this situation that wouldn't make things worse. This wasn't his fault, and Megatron hadn't seemed upset with him... finally he let go of his worries and fully relaxed and tried to drift back into recharge. But now that he was relaxing, another little fact came to his attention: he felt sticky. His frame was splattered with drying fluids, as was Megatron... and once again he sighed and let it go.

He had always insisted on cleaning up after such interactions, much to the annoyance of some of his Autobots, who would rather have the messy post-overload cuddling instead. Jazz’s playful grin ghosted across his memory as he remembered coming down from the bliss of an overload with the saboteur one evening to stasis cuffs around his wrist, secured to the berth frame. Amusement mixed with sadness rippled through his fields.

Megatron stirred. “Enjoying yourself up there?” he murmured into a blue audial.

Optimus winced as he'd finally woken the other mech, “Apologies. I will retract-“

“No. You are fine.” Megatron gave a soft sigh and squeezed his valve around the firm warmth nestled within him, and Optimus laid his helm back down, relieved he need not expect punishment in the morning. It really _was_ safe to sleep this way. Beyond comfortable, Megatron, too, resettled himself to fall back into recharge.

Then a few moments later the tip of said firm warmth twitched. Twitch, twitch. His hyper sensitive valve clenched a little, cycling up a notch. Megatron murmured into the blue audial nearest his mouth. “Did you want something?”

“No.” Optimus’ whisper was firm, and he resettled himself more comfortably atop the warm silver plating to cycle back down. He heard Megatron rumble in amusement, but he kept his blue optics closed.

 _Fussy truck,_ Megatron thought up at his companion. Fortunately he was used to contrary lovers. He too settled down, and the little trembles in his companion’s spike did stop. He further relaxed as the mild arousal he felt in Prime's field was slowly replaced with a deep sense of comfort for the warmth shared between their frames, notched so snugly together as they were. But it took a while for his mind to follow his body, and he could tell Prime was feeling the same way.

“Choices, choices,” Megatron finally murmured, opening his eyes the barest slit and Optimus felt arms tighten around him. “After your attempt to escape, I should force you to empty your subspace, and find out what you are up to. I know you are plotting against me.” Megatron nuzzled into the warm blue neck cables and mouthed them in honest affection. “I will not be parted with you again.”

“I fear you will be disappointed.” Optimus murmured, optics still closed, trying and failing not to enjoy the gentle nuzzling along his neck cables. _I should not be enjoying this, I really shouldn't,_ he admonished himself. But it didn't help as the gentle touch was too comforting.

“You plot against me,” Megatron murmured into the blue audial, wholly without malice. He was very accustomed to his consorts plotting his death and downfall. It was almost a lover’s game to him, fully expected and anticipated. “You are planning something… subspacing metal. You are making something, most likely a weapon of some sort.”

Megatron nibbled an audial, still unworried and fully relaxed. “Did it help you escape?”

“No. My leaving was unrelated.” Optimus gently freed his audial from the warm intakes, not wanting to further rouse his array. The soft, exploring lips felt so good to him tonight.

Megatron made that noise again.

“You will ruin the surprise,” Optimus mumbled in response. “I will use it to defeat you if I can, but it is not what you are thinking. I cannot harm you.”

“Is it a weapon?” Megatron guessed, not quite willing to let it go.

“No.” Optimus said, firmly. “Nor can it be used as such.”

“Very well,” Megatron murmured, finally. “Keep your little plan then. I will wait.” He closed his optics, nuzzled into Prime’s audial, and drifted back into recharge.

 

* * *

 

It was late in the evening, and Starscream was surprised to see Ravage waiting outside his quarters when he finally returned for recharge. He stared at the black cassette, and then flared his wings in threat.

Starscream had spent the entire evening diligently avoiding Soundwave, until the communications officer had apparently given up and returned to his quarters.

“We know you are up to something,” Ravage snarled up at him.

“Well, obviously.” Starscream smirked. “When am I _not_ up to something?” He blithely stepped over the panther and walked into his quarters. He turned around to lock the cat out.

“Soundwave wants to talk.” The cat sat back, optics glowing.

“Fine with me,” Starscream hissed back. He slammed the door closed and locked it. Then Starscream opened his comms. The line pinged as it connected. Outside, the panther tilted his sleek head in annoyance, and then finally padded away.

“What the frag is your problem, Soundwave?” Starscream snarled into his comms. He walked over to his berth and sat down. When in doubt, blame the problem on the other mech.

“Your behavior is inexplicable,” Soundwave’s monotone rumbled back. “Situation is unacceptable.”

“Whatever. I’m a busy mech. Or maybe I just hate your stupid visor that much. Just tell me what you want.”

“Situation is sensitive. Private meeting requested.”

“No.” Starscream hissed. “Not happening. Like I said, I’m busy and I hate your stupid face.” He didn’t actually hate Soundwave’s stupid face. But right now he wanted the telepath to stay far away from him.

“Aid requested. Situation is sensitive. I must insist we meet.”

“You need aid,” Starscream repeated, thoughtfully. _Now this is interesting. This might be something I can use._ He still hadn’t found any dirt or leverage against Soundwave so far. He could smell opportunity. “What do you want? Just tell me what you need and I will name my price.”

“Private meeting is-“

“No, Soundwave! Not until I know what you want!” Starscream hissed, and the line fell quiet. He could practically hear Soundwave’s frustration. Then Starscream sighed and then gave a little concession, baiting the hook.

“My own situation is sensitive. And it has nothing to do with overthrowing Megatron.” If they had a mutual secret, they would both have dirt on each other and his secret could stay safe, and whatever Soundwave was trying to keep secret would thus stay safe. That was a win-win situation right there, if he played his card-chips right.

There was a long silence on the other comm line as Soundwave processed his words and come to the same conclusion. And he too gave a small concession.

“Situation is in regards to Autobot slave.”

“Oh,” Starscream realized, “I see.” He pondered for a few moments, unhurried. “You want something done about it, don’t you?” He finally asked. Silence filled the line. There was no way Soundwave was going to answer that question over the comms.

Starscream sighed. “Alright then. Private meeting granted. My quarters. Now.” _Best to get this over with,_ he decided and was determined to finally deal with the problem as he was sick of all the running around. _I have to do something about him soon and this is the best opportunity so far._

Starscream only had to wait a few minutes and then he heard a polite tap at the door. “It’s not locked.” He backed away, wary, staying as far out of range of Soundwave as he could. He knew Soundwave needed to be within a few body lengths for true mind reading, but for strong emotions his telepathy had a far wider range.

Starscream was sure his developing sparkling wasn’t strong enough for the telepath to sense. He was almost sure Soundwave wouldn't be able to single out the unborn’s separate set of emotions from his own. After all, he was still early in a very long and complex gestation cycle. But he knew it was just a matter of time. It was good he was dealing with this now.

Soundwave walked inside with Ravage at his heels. He immediately noted how far Starscream was standing from him - on the other side of the room even? - and came to a stop. He tilted his helm a fraction, confused.

“Send the cat out.” Starscream’s command was firm. “This is between you and me, only.”

Soundwave didn’t move, but the metal panther inclined his muzzle in response to an internal order. Then Ravage quietly stalked out of his quarters without a fuss. Soundwave began to step forward, but Starscream flared his wings and motioned him to stay where he was. Obviously he was currently far enough away that he couldn't detect the second little spark.

That was fine, for now.

“So. Optimus Prime. That is a sensitive situation, isn’t it?” Starscream wrapped two servos around his intakes, thinking. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that noticed how Prime was affecting their leader… and Starscream felt a wave of amusement rush through him. What Soundwave wanted was already in the works. But previous deals already made with the Autobot himself were none of Soundwave’s concern. Starscream considered the situation for another moment and then started the negotiations.

“You don’t like our glorious leader’s new spike cozy and you want me to do something about it, don’t you? But you don’t dare dirty your own servos.”

“Affirmative. Situation is unacceptable. Decepticon ideology is-“

“Whatever. Don’t quote our ideology at me. You know I don’t really care what he does with Prime, who was our greatest enemy. I will deal with it as you wish but I want something from you in return. If he finds out I am responsible, my aft is in deep slag. I am serious, Soundwave.”

“State demand.”

Starscream leaned forward and set his wings. His vocalizer was harsh. “I will deal with Optimus Prime myself as you request. The problem goes away and you keep your servos clean, and if anything goes down, it’s on my helm.”

Starscream glowered at Soundwave. That was no small concession as Megatron’s punishments could be severely brutal and Soundwave knew that. But it was more than just avoiding punishment for Soundwave. He was Megatron’s trusted loyalist, his only true friend. Lord Megatron did not normally allow others close to him, and Soundwave would forever lose his connection to his beloved leader if he did anything to betray him.

Starscream well knew this. That was now the leverage he held over Soundwave, and it was most sufficient.

Now for his demands. “But in return, I demand your total discretion and complete silence on a matter of some…sensitivity to me. And I need your complete agreement in advance.”

“Request: unusual. I will not agree to any pact that will harm Lord Megatron-“

“It has nothing to do with harming glorious leader in any way.”

Soundwave remained silent as he considered that. He really didn’t like making deals with the capricious seeker. But he was also in the business of collecting secrets, and now he was deeply curious. Finally he made his decision. “Agreed. Secret will be kept.”

“Good. And just so we are clear; if you cross me on this I will kill you.” Threats were always appropriate and in good taste between Decepticons, especially high ranking ones with much to lose.

Soundwave tilted his helm in acknowledgment and Starscream in-vented deeply. He set his wings and stepped forward. One step, two steps and onward, he crossed the room until he was standing face to face with Soundwave. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

Behind his protective visor, Soundwave’s optics went wide.

 

* * *

 

Optimus left their quarters for his customary early morning walk. It was not long after Megatron had left for the day. He took his time, stretching his pedes, and tried to stick to the outer corridors.

His fever was completely gone, and his fuel tank was full to the brim again. Apparently Megatron was serious when he said he would be providing for base needs, no matter the trouble Optimus gave him. Not that he could do much directly against his owner.

That morning he'd had his second go at Megatron's valve, and then Megatron had ridden _him_ for a third and a forth, until they were both fully satiated again. Then he'd reassured Optimus that he was still forgiven, and that he still had the run of the base. His plea for mercy and their interfacing had completely calmed the anger he had seen in Megatron’s optics in the throne room yesterday. There was no trace of that rage now, and he had successfully distracted Megatron so completely that he hadn't retracted his order to obey Starscream.

Having enjoyed complete freedom of movement so recently meant staying inside Megatron’s quarters held no appeal at all, even with his motivation to finish the chess set. His spike was clearly ready for play and Megatron seemed enamored with it. He could count on plenty of interfacing, and he really needed something to distract Megatron with now that he was back under Megatron's mercy. He was almost finished; only the king and queen pieces were left as they were giving him a bit of trouble.

He started down an adjoining corridor, and so far the hallways were clear. It had been a good walk, but all good things end. There were several mechs in the next corridor and he considered turning back until he realized he'd caught the attention of the last mech he wanted to see today.

Motormaster glowered at him as he passed. “Have a good night, you sorry bolt-licker? I bet you did. The boss was so torqued with you.”

Optimus didn’t answer. He had no desire to interact with the aggressive Decepticon. He just kept walking, keeping his face plates even and nonreactive. This mech with his useless anger was not worth any trouble he might bring, and the Stunticon’s insults were meaningless to him.

“I can’t wait until Megatron gets tired of you,” Motormaster hissed through his denta. “You know you are going to be shareware as soon as that happens, right?”

"We're going to chain you down and frag you stupid, and you'll never need to drink another cube of energon again." Motormaster tapped his interface panel with a nasty grin, the one covering his spike.

Optimus winced at the thought and then frowned as the other mech grinned at him, seeing his words had made an impact.

“You think the boss is hard on you, just wait ‘til I get my servos on you,” the Stunticon hissed at him as he passed, turning to spit venom at his back plates. “I’m going to be the one to kill you. I am going to frag you to death. You know that, Prime?”

Optimus ignored the other mech, and continued down the hall. He didn’t bother responding to the hateful Stunticon. It would only lead to trouble, and that was the last thing he needed right now. He was just one opportune moment away from escape, and he refused do anything to endanger that.

Optimus turned another corner, glad to leave the obnoxious Stunticon behind him. He was intending to get back to enjoying his walk when he spotted a familiar set of white and red wings approaching from a side hall. He considered ducking around to avoid Starscream, but it was too late. He inclined his helm respectfully as their optics caught and met. He was keenly aware Starscream held his fate in his clever servos just as firmly as Megatron’s own ironclad grip.

...

Starscream spotted the Autobot walking down the hall and turned to approach him. He took a moment to throw a glance down the hallway towards the throne room where he had been heading. Megatron was out of sight on his throne, preparing for a meeting with all of his tactically-minded warriors in a few breems.

Starscream looked back and saw Prime nod at him in respectful greeting, and Starscream stepped into and blocked Prime's path.

 _Always so polite,_ Starscream thought. The other mech clung to his calm and his dignity. It was one of his many charming traits, Starscream was coming to recognize. “Hey,” he whispered into Prime's audial as he ducked close. “Smile for me.”

Prime blinked. Then he was forced by the slave coding to lift his mouth plates into a smile. It wasn't a pretty thing for it didn't reach past his delicate lip plating; his eyes narrowed in disapproval for the petty order.

“Oh throttle down,” Starscream said and gestured for him to quit with the alarming expression. “Just checking. You still have to obey me. Looks like Megs forgot to tell you to stop.”

Starscream grinned and looked delighted with the possibilities.

But the Prime was quick to dump a bucket of freezing liquid over his constant, myriad plans. “I cannot harm my master in any way. And if you try to order me to do so, I will be forced to report your orders to him. It is likely in the questioning that will follow he will discover things about you that would not be in your best interest.”

Starscream’s wings flared in sudden anger but then relaxed again. He knew full well that Prime had no control over himself anymore. “Good point.”

“Well, I can still control you for other things though,” Starscream considered. Prime was Megatron’s dedicated berth warmer and had all manners of frequent intimate contact with him. This was still a situation that had possibilities for Starscream’s own advancement, beyond his promise made to both Prime and now Soundwave.

“If you insist on doing something then it would be best for you to finish me as quickly as can be arranged.” Prime said as he broke Starscream's train of thought, dumping yet another proverbial bucket of freezing liquid over Starscream's helm. “If only to protect your secret. I am only one question away from being forced to reveal you, Starscream.”

Prime dropped his head, looking away. “Not that I wish to be.” The honest regret was clear in his voice. So much control had been taken from him.

Starscream’s shoulders sagged as he had no choice but to face the truth. _I have to do something about Prime, but I really hoped I could use him to dethrone Megatron._ His optics remained thoughtful for a moment longer and then he finally came to a decision. _There is always tomorrow,_ he consoled himself as he was forced to abandon his half-formed plans to use Prime against Megatron.

Then Starscream threw his wings out in determination and surprised Prime. Looking around them carefully, Starscream then subspaced a few cubes of yellow energon which he handed over while asking, “You still have the thermal blanket, right?”

“Yes,” Prime said while staring at him, stunned, and then quickly subspaced the energon.

“Good. Things are picking up. You will be gone from here soon.” Starscream said nothing more. Instead, he strode past Prime and continued on toward the throne room. He couldn’t kill his leader right now, but thankfully he no longer had to avoid Soundwave. He had made an agreement and he was going to follow through, come hell or high water.

If he couldn’t help Prime escape while also covering his aft, then he was going to kill him. But Starscream doubted it would come to that, as Prime seemed eager to throw his own life away to escape his pathetic lot in life.

Starscream shook his helm and refocused on troop formations and battle strategies, forcing thoughts of Prime out of his helm. He had a tactical meeting with Megatron that morning as Thrust had made a very fortunate discovery.

***

 

That same morning found Megatron sitting on his throne.

Megatron appeared extremely cheerful for some reason. He listened patiently as his Air Commander, the command trine, and Onslaught discussed strategies for a direct assault on the rough cave system the Unicronians were now using as a base.

Without a better option for a base then using caves, the Unicronians were very mobile. One cave system was usually as good as any other, so they tended to move around quite a bit. It made them much harder to counter attack.

Fortunately they had finally located the enemy’s newest base of operations last night, thanks to Thrust insisting on following a scout he had wounded during patrol. He had continued to trail the minion well after common sense warned he should turn back. The injured Sweep had arrived back to the Unicronian base, and having located it, Thrust had finally turned back. He was fortunate to fly away unnoticed. He had flown like a mad mech to make it back to Decepticon territory before nightfall to report.

“We could send in my Armada for the first strike,” Starscream offered, “A mere feint, to pull them out of their base. They take to the air to follow, and we pull the bulk of their forces to another location for an ambush.”

Soundwave had immediately ordered Laserbeak to fly out to scout out their base of operations during the first hints of morning, and she had returned not long after dawn with a layout of the utter disaster the Unicronians were calling a fortress. Apparently they weren’t that picky when it came to what they were willing to call home.

“I might take a small strike team, Astrotrain and Blitzwing perhaps, and focus on taking out Galvatron,” Megatron said, tapping his chin in thought.

“It would be wise to leave a small group of defenders here,” Onslaught suggested, “guarding our energon supplies. Perhaps Swindle and a few of the other, lighter builds.”

Megatron grunted affirmation.

The Unicronian attacks had become far more frequent and vicious, though lately the attack squads were smaller in number. Currently only small attack squads of Sweeps were harrying them, but what they were after was the yellow energon the Decepticons were distilling.

The yellow energon, and Starscream. They seemed keenly interested in the position of the Air Commander, and could be seen reporting his position every time they saw him. When it was pointed out during a meeting the jet had just laughed and brushed it off, using the opportunity to snipe a few insults at Megatron about who the real threat was around here. A quick pounce and a smacked aft later and they had all returned their focus on strategy.

The marauding Unicronians had not been able to corner the seeker, but they did manage to swipe handfuls of cubes here and there, and it seemed clear to Megatron that the Unicronians had no way to distill the crude proto-fuel to a more concentrated form.

Likely they simply didn’t know how to set up a proper distillery, as the only truly sentient Unicronian other than Galvatron was Cyclonus, and he was a warrior. Megatron had far more talent to pull from, as he did not rely on mere drones for warriors.

It seemed that the Unicronians had to wait until their own systems converted the proto-fuel, with their energy levels slowly rising to acceptable levels, and then attack. They couldn’t simply drink a cube of energon and be ready to go. Thus they were attacking in smaller groups that were coming in semi-frequent waves, keeping up the tension while the rest of them waited for fuel levels to get high enough. That way they were never all of them depleted, and not especially vulnerable to counter-attack.

Galvatron was finally starting to use some strategy in his attacks.

If they could steal enough energon and fuel themselves adequately for a full scale attack, then they would be far more of a threat. Right now their main advantage was simply their numbers, and the Decepticons were skilled fighters, and so far had been holding their own with only minimal casualties.

“We could consider bringing Prime with us.” Thundercracker suggested. “He cannot escape our Leader’s control, and he seems invested in defending our new home. He is a powerful fighter. The last time they attacked,” He reminded them, “Prime held them off by himself and kept the base entrance clear, even without backup.”

Megatron considered that for a moment.

Optimus Prime had been very useful for defense, throwing himself into any skirmish he could in defense of their base - another reminder of his own wisdom as leader - proof that Prime was on his way to finding a place among his new Decepticon brothers as Megatron had planned.

Already his soldiers were growing accustomed to the Autobot’s presence.

“Not yet,” Megatron decided. Prime was still planning something against him, and he wanted to wait to see what his old adversary was up to before offering him anything more generous than the run of the base. “Perhaps if he continues to make himself useful he will be allowed more privileges.”

He couldn’t wait to see what his adversary had come up with to try and defeat him. It was like waiting for one of Starscream’s carefully constructed overthrow attempts to materialize and he was ready and eager for the challenge. And just as eager for the aftermath… He enjoyed inflicting a good punishment frag, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Just ask Starscream.

But Megatron had fully forgiven Prime for trying to escape. He really couldn’t blame him for it. Prime was the highlight of his evenings and his spark pulsed hot with joy at the sight of the blue and red mech. He didn’t have a name for the warm, pulsing feeling that overran him every time Prime called him leader or when he coaxed ecstatic cries from that otherwise quiet vocalizer... which was a frequent occurrence now as he learned what Prime enjoyed.

Just ask Starscream, heh.

Megatron was completely resolved to a much lighter touch with Prime for the rest of their lives, but an attempt by the Autobot on his life would be an exception. That Prime had been forced to return to him pleased him greatly. His time spent out in the wild had been enlightening, Megatron was sure.

Prime had been shaking with fever when he had returned to his leader, and he expected he would have little or no problems what-so-ever with Prime now that he fully understood just how much he needed Megatron. He remained confident that he would win Prime over eventually. They could have a good life together, so long as Prime continued to submit to his authority. Currently the mech submitted in all things, without argument, and barely even winced anymore.

Last night had been the best yet.

 _Progress is clearly being made,_ he thought with satisfaction.

Megatron forced his attention back to the homicidal enthusiasts planning and scheming earnestly around him. The tactical meeting continued on into the afternoon, and then general assembly was called.

 

* * *

 

Starscream’s trine had roared back into his life.

He was reminded of this when he stopped back at his quarters and they were waiting for him there. Skywarp grinned up at him, looking distracted as he and Thundercracker checked their weapons systems and cleaned their turbines.

After a moment’s hesitation, Starscream joined them.

It had started when he recharged with Thundercracker while they grieved together for a missing Skywarp. Then the returned Skywarp had showed up with Thundercracker the next night, and his jilted trine mates had refused to leave. There had been a battle, and it ended with three jets in a tangle of limbs, one yelling and squirming, the other two latched on and refusing to let go.

Skywarp and Thundercracker couldn’t get him to tell them why he wanted to stay apart, as all of his excuses sounded contrived and false to their audials, long accustomed as they were to his idiosyncrasies. But they wouldn’t back down, even after Starscream threatened to throw them in the brig.

And then he had Onslaught and the Combaticons actually throw them in the brig.

Thundercracker and Skywarp showed back up at the door to his quarters not an hour later (the metal on this debilitated ship couldn’t hold a determined turbo mouse much less two elite seekers) and latched on again.

The two reckless trine mates had simply refused to let the third member of their trio chase them off. Starscream tried everything to drive them away, from the worst insults to the worst threats, but they won’t have any of it. They knew his game now, and refuse to rise to the bait.

He finally gave up and they'd recharged the last couple of nights together. It was still early yet, Starscream knew, and it would be some time before things would start becoming …dangerously obvious. He still had no idea what to do long term, but at least the worst of the threats had been contained.

Soundwave, for example.

“Perhaps you should remain behind.” Soundwave’s monotone rumbled in the jet’s private comms and the seeker could tell the telepath was frowning at him from behind his visor.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were oblivious as they passed Soundwave in the corridor on the way to the flight hatch, giving him a respectful salute. Starscream had ignored the spy until his sentiment rumbled through the seeker’s personal comms. He could also tell the communications officer was staring directly at his midriff behind his visor while addressing him.

Not acceptable.

Starscream didn’t stop walking but stared at the blue mech menacingly as he passed. “Perhaps you should shut your damned vocalizer about things that don’t concern you,” he snarled back over the private line.

Soundwave hesitated, then inclined his helm and stepped away. The command trine continued on for the flight deck together, so Starscream could address his armada to give them their attack orders and flight formations.

 

* * *

 

“Starscream’s armada is taking point,” Megatron told Prime while sprawled over a chair amidst cleaning and preparing his fusion cannon, currently field-stripped and its delicate components being scrubbed at with a cloth.

It was something Megatron did before every battle if he had the chance. They had no way to build or repair their weapons anymore, so every piece of ordinance was precious.

“How does that work,” Optimus asked cautiously, “when you can only fire energy weapons a few shots at a time?”

Optimus watched Megatron clean his cannon with a sense of déjà vu. Megatron had shown him the same firm, thoughtful touches and concentration earlier that morning - while they had showered together - that he was now showing his weapon.

“It is a problem. The Command trine's main task will be merely to cause a distraction and pull Galvatron’s forces outside their fortress to thin their numbers.”

Optimus felt himself slowly relax down to his protoform as it became clear to him that Megatron just wanted to chat, and nothing physical was going to happen to him. He was still having trouble not engaging. Megatron had responded with interest to every word that left his vocalizer and not once had he been threatened. It felt good to actually chat with Megatron, instead of being crowded around and dominated by him. It was emboldening, and he was struggling to remain in his quiet, subservient shell.

“I see. Have you given any thought to projectile weapons, instead of energy based? The humans had a basic design that would be rather easy to manufacture, even with the crude materials available on this planet.”

“Mm. Now that is a thought, isn’t it?” Megatron tilted his helm in contemplation while carefully wiping his scope clean. “Right now we are limited to physical combat once energy levels drop below the minimum threshold. Fortunately most of my soldiers are heavy builds, all of them skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”

 _As am I,_ Optimus considered. _He is in a very good mood. Perhaps now is a good time to press for more freedom..._ “You know I have helped storm many a fortress,” Optimus began.

“Ha! You mean you have stormed many of my fortresses!” Megatron barked cheerfully, laughing. They had had so many good battles…

“Yes,” Optimus said. He was careful to be respectful as he said, “And they fell, many of them. You know I could be useful beyond basic defense.”

It was the truth. Beyond that, he had been built for war and he dearly missed combat. Currently the highlights of his days were when the Sweeps attacked and he was able to either help defend or attempt to escape. “I am mostly healed of my injuries,” he pointed out. “I could join your attack instead of merely taking up space here.”

Megatron considered that carefully and his gaze grew canny. “No,” he decided and his answer sounded final. “Not yet. I remain unconvinced you are one of us. Perhaps in time.” _Not so soon after you fled from me_ _and not while you plot against me,_ was what he meant.

Optimus frowned. He understood where the source of Megatron's mistrust was coming from, but didn’t argue. A part of him was disappointed that he would be missing the fighting, but the rest of him was grateful for the upcoming peace and quiet.

“It is time for me to go. We leave soon.” Megatron then ordered Optimus to say in their quarters for the duration of the assault. He was still being very careful with his returned berth mate. He was deadly serious with he told Optimus he would not be parted with him again.

And Optimus never failed to be startled when Megatron reached out and planted a servo on his hip strut, pulled him forward with a pleased expression on his face and planted a kiss on his intakes.

Then Megatron turned and strolled out of their quarters without so much as a backward glance.

 

***

 

Later that same afternoon the bulk of the Decepticon forces leave for a huge battle with the Unicronians, with Megatron in the lead, and the seeker armada roaring past to begin their part in the upcoming invasion.

Weapons were powered up and engines built for war cycled to their highest settings. The stormfront wandering the horizon did nothing to cool the battle fervor, although Megatron kept a close optic on it, choosing to continue with the planned attack.

Spirits were high.

Even Optimus was in a good mood, enjoying the long hours of solitude.

 

* * *

 

A few hours of blissful peace passed and then the weather turned.

Optimus could hear the sounds of heavy rain falling, battering the old ship. The splatters turned into hammering and pounding as the temperature dropped and turned the fluid from liquid to a frozen, bombarding hail.

He listened to the sounds of the ship’s hull being mercilessly battered and wondered how the battle was faring. He felt twinges of concern, but there was nothing to be done. He finally ended up recharging, falling asleep in his chair while reading a data pad.

The sounds of heavy pede steps approaching woke him, and Optimus quickly subspaced his favorite historical archival data pad as Megatron entered the room. Megatron saw the motion out of the corner of his optic, but said nothing as his lip plating curled up in a slight but knowing smile. Glancing at his chronometer, Optimus realized it was only mid-afternoon.

 _The battle must have went well,_ Optimus concluded as Megatron's fully extended fields thrummed with satisfaction and his engine rumbled with relish from victory.

Megatron grinned at him in greeting and strode through the room, splattered in wet and drying internal fluids, most of it from his enemies. He was badly scratched and cut from the razor sharp talons of the Sweeps. He sported a slice cut through his lip, and it oozed a trickle of internal fluid, along with a cut across his nasal ridge. His dark servos were coated up to his arms with internal fluid and oil. Tiny dents, most likely from the worst of the driving hail, covered his entire body.

“I take it the battle went well?” Optimus asked while watching Megatron from his chair. He didn’t get up. He remained seated and observed instead. He was certain if his presence was desired that Megatron would order him over.

“Indeed,” Megatron answered as he drew his head back proudly. His eyes were bright and his face plating flush with victory.

“Starscream’s plan worked. While we were unable to take down Galvatron and Cyclonus, we did cut a swath through his minions, and severely damaged his fortress. Unfortunately the weather turned, and we were forced to retreat.”

Megatron smiled viciously. “The Unicronians will be enjoying this planet’s delightful weather system up close and personal tonight. We shattered the stone ceilings of their cave system.” He grinned as the thought of his enemies suffering in freezing misery made his spark pulse with dark joy.

Outside, the sounds of the bitter weather intensify, with the driving hail coming down in unrelenting sheets.

“There is a party tonight in the throne room in celebration of our victory,” he mentioned over his shoulder as he headed for the wash racks to clean the filth from his frame. “Double rations for everyone will be handed out there. You are welcome to join me as my guest, if you wish.”

“I am not one for parties,” Prime deferred quietly. He didn't want to mingle with the other Decepticons if he could avoid it. Not even with the promise of more fuel. The dreadful memories of a choking, sputtering Divebomb during the last party he'd been forced to attend still seared his mind.

“Assuming I actually have a choice in the matter,” he added while being careful to keep a respectful tone.

“You do.” Megatron laughed as he slowly strode away. “I am aware you don’t enjoy the company of your brothers… as of yet.”

Optimus relaxed, and watched as Megatron slowly walked away; a little relieved he has not been called to join him.

“I will be back late tonight, as my presence will be expected after such a glorious victory. I will not be waiting to tend you in the evening tonight.” Megatron glanced meaningfully at his captive for a moment as he disappeared into his private wash rack.

 

***

 _There it is then,_ Optimus thought as he sat back.

 _At least our interfacing will be happening in the privacy of this room,_ and the thought was something of a relief, at least a little. Optimus wasn’t much for celebrations normally and he really didn’t like their parties. He shuddered at the thought of being taken in front of Megatron's troops again as would likely occur tonight if he chose to attend.

Now he had a choice to make.

He could sit here until Megatron was done showering and wait for him to start their private celebrations, or he could take the initiative and join him in the shower and maybe derail any sort of creative plans Megatron probably had before leaving for the celebration.

But following Megatron into the shower and starting something was a far different thing then just waiting and reacting to whatever Megatron decided to do to him... or decided to force him to do. Admittedly things had been better between them now that he had started tentatively chatting with his adversary instead of maintaining his silence. The constant affectionate displays helped greatly as had all of the gentle touches. Megatron’s granting of mercy and his refusal to physically punish Optimus while he was helpless had been the turning point for him, greatly easing his deep, overriding fear of impending harm.

Optimus took a step towards the shower, and then hesitated again. He frowned as he still couldn’t fully banish the thought of the data pad and its frightening entries out of his helm. He remembered Starscream confirming the list when he'd returned Optimus to Megatron.

True, Megatron had seemed honestly contrite and his explanation made sense. The entries had looked completely different. Some of them had been very crude and a few of them by their nature would have ended in his gruesome death. He could only die once, after all. He told himself this over and over, and it did help calm him, and yet Optimus couldn’t fully shake the feeling that he was running out of time.

But Megatron was still keyed up from battle and if left to his own devices Optimus was worried he could expect some sort of aggressive victory interface. _I might be better off trying to cycle him down a bit, first._

He hesitated for a few moments as he heard Megatron moving around in the shower, gathering cleaning supplies probably. He sighed, not liking that he was resorting to reading Megatron’s moods and trying to strategize against inappropriate contact. He should just wait and see what happens.

_But if I do nothing the end result would be the same, and we will be interfacing on his terms. If I initiate, I may have a bit of control over my own situation._

Megatron seemed to enjoy it when he was… aggressively submissive, if that was a good way to describe it. Optimus fought with himself, his desire for personal dignity at war with his nervousness for the coming interface as he struggled to make a decision.

 

***

 

Megatron stepped under the hot spray and began to rinse his cuts.

The various cuts all over his outer plating stung, but were already sealing closed. The leaking was under control if not fully stopped. He rinsed his intakes and nasal ridge and ran his servos carefully over his plating as the hot fluid rinsed off evidence of battle.

Then Megatron’s spark pulsed hot and bright when he saw Prime enter the wash rack, looking oh-so-wary. He watched from the corner of his optic as Prime dropped his helm in a cautious display of submission, and hesitating, tilted his helm in question.

Megatron loved it when Prime was like this. It sent tingles from his spark down through his sensor net, spreading warmth and lust though his systems, winding down to his interface array. His spike twitched eagerly in its sheath and his weapons systems displayed readiness, a duel reaction in response to the serious danger this mech had once been to him and the burning desire his visage brought Megatron’s very spark.

His life had already been entwined with Prime's for millions of years now. So much of his functioning had been dedicated to fighting with the frame that was standing so respectfully near him, now fully possessed by Megatron, body and spark.

 _Prime truly was a worthy adversary,_ he remembered as he glanced over his shoulder and held the other mech at a distance with his sharp gaze. _But now those glory days are gone. Now he is mine._ He saw Prime hesitate and step back half a pace.

Megatron flicked a welcoming smile at the other mech and was pleased when Prime moved toward him. He reached out with his servo and brushed his knuckles against Prime’s face plate and slid his servo down the sensitive neck cables. He was gratified when Prime merely dropped his gaze in submission, down and then back up, and did not wince.

Why it mattered to him that Prime completely enjoyed his touch lurked beneath his consciousness. He shied away from examining that desire too closely. He was concerned with what he might find, even though he knew it was already affecting his interactions with Prime, and growing stronger by the day.

The Autobot’s own uptight views on physical intimacy and its applications were also an obstacle, but that one he could handle. It was really just a matter of time. _He will have to be coaxed over to the Deception mode of thinking,_ Megatron decided. It was far more pragmatic.

After a long moment Megatron carefully removed his outer helm and set it aside. He threw his head back, and extended his elegant crest. He glanced over as he heard Prime in-vent in surprise, suddenly reminded that Prime had never seen him without his helm before. Prime reached out, entranced, and traced the beautiful plating.

Megatron allowed the intimate touch, and then pulled his lover closer to him and under the hot shower spray.

He brushed his intakes against Prime’s neck plating and mouthed along the cables, knowing the sensation was most pleasing to him. Then he slicked the metal with his glossa, nibbling and sucking along the plating and cables. He kissed up one side of Prime’s neck and down the other. His servos reached out and stroked and teased along creases and wires in Prime’s plating.

Having secreted out the sweetest spots on Prime’s body, Megatron now used that knowledge to devastating effect as felt Prime shiver and melt against him. His crest and plating flared in excitement. Prime hesitantly dipped his helm and captured the pleasing mouth with his own. Megatron rumbled and returned the kiss, deepening it, and was gratified when a shy glossa flicked across his probing intakes.

 _Yes,_ Megatron thought with a flare of joy for that emboldened little touch, _I wish it, so touch me and forget your fear. We will find a better functioning together._

Prime pulled away after a moment, gasping, his plating running hot. “You are injured,” he murmured, “Let me help you first.” He moved as if to help with the cuts, but Megatron was not interested in such distraction. He was far more interested in the interface plating that Prime had opened with a _snick_ without being prompted.

“These are mere scratches, beneath notice,” Megatron murmured back, and reclaimed Prime’s intakes instead, unwilling to lose the momentum of their frames, hungry to be joined with his lover. He turned and gently pushed Prime back against the wall while he sucked in the Autobot’s soft gasps, enjoying the proof of his arousal. He squeezed the frame between his heavy plating and the wall, but the angle was not good enough.

Megatron wrapped his arms tightly around Prime’s waist and pulled him down and around, setting him at the edge of the basin. Hot fluid was raining down on them, and he pulled Prime forward and against him. His engine rumbled in delight when Prime hooked his legs behind his thighs. This angle would allow for far deeper penetration.

Megatron had enjoyed the spiking, but his preference by far was the soft valve now bared and ready for him. He opened his own paneling and rubbed his hot interface array against the other while slowly extending his spike. He was delighted when a servo slid between them and Prime ran his fingers over the hot metal, fingers pumping and teasing along the sensitive spikehead, smearing pre-fluid over the burning metal.

Megatron gasped his approval and returned the gesture. His servos stroked over Prime’s throbbing anterior node, and then dipping inside to tease along the deeper nodes as charge began to build higher. The depths were slick with lubricant and ready. Then Megatron oriented his spike and began pushing into Prime's valve, feeling the warm spread of plush metal and the soft ripples around his sensitive plating.

Megatron surged in, spreading the rim wide around his thick spike and began a fervent pace.

Prime’s own plating flared and he cried out with the force of the thrusts, the blissful charge building in his array. He grasped Megatron’s heated silver back plating to steady himself, servos squeezing the thick armor. His engine roared as he matched Megatron’s for the intensity as charge arched between them.

Megatron felt Prime frantically push at the small of his back with the heels of his pedes, urging him in deeper, harder, and he responded to that urging by thrusting furiously into the soft metal mesh. He worked his spike against all of Prime’s sweetest spots, grinding against his deepest, most sensitive places.

The charge built and built between them, reflecting between the slick, frantic slide of their heated metal.

It coiled and burned hot in their frames until release finally found them and Prime bucked and arched with a shout of ecstasy as his overload claimed him, and Megatron spilled out immediately after with an answering roar.

 

* * *

 

It had been an excellent celebration.

Megatron had been resplendent, cleaned and polished and reclining on his throne. He had been in a furiously good mood after the battle and especially after stopping off at his quarters for a shower before the party. His Decepticons greatly enjoyed the extra fuel, and his booming speech had been most rousing tonight.

A Sweep that was unfortunate enough to have been cornered during the battle and taken alive was the guest of honor, and the hook in the floor was once again put to good use.

Roars of amusement, cheers and shouts had echoed from the throne room. Swindle took bets on how long the Sweep would last, fights had been started, battles reenacted, mechs punched other mechs in the face, a six mech brawl (started by the mech with the same name) started up in a corner and a merry time was had by all ... except for the Sweep, anyway.

It had been one hell of a party.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were still back at the celebration, but Starscream had finally had enough for the night. He had ducked away shortly after Lord Megatron had left for the night, his heavy pedes echoing down the hall as he slowly headed back to his quarters to recharge with his Autobot slave.

Starscream was walking towards his own quarters but a ping from his comms derailed him. He ended up meeting with Soundwave instead in an empty outer corridor after receiving the brief request for an update.

“Plans are already in place,” Starscream softly assured him. His bright wings were canted confidently.

Soundwave inclined his helm, but wanted more. “Specify plans.”

“Can’t go into details,” Starscream said, shaking his helm in warning. He didn’t want Soundwave to pick up on the fact he had already been helping Prime escape. He was careful to keep control of his thoughts while he was so close to the communications officer, a task he found easy after eons of practice dealing with the telepath.

“But Prime has already agreed to the plan, for better or for worse. He is desperate to free himself. Prime will either escape for the last time, or I will kill him myself,” Starscream assured Soundwave. “And after doing so Lord Megatron will no longer be burdened with this little situation.” Starscream smirked, his grin only a little evil. “No doubt to his everlasting regret.”

Soundwave inclined his helm again, satisfied.

There was a long silence as Starscream looked inwardly for a moment, distracted by the fluttering in his abdominals. It was stronger tonight. The extra fuel he had received along with the rest of the triumphant soldiers had been well needed.

Starscream realized the silence was going long and flicked his wings to excuse himself. He was just about to walk away when Soundwave surprised him by pulling from his subspace his two extra cubes of energon he had stashed away instead of consumed. Soundwave handed them over without comment.

“Heh, for Prime? Didn’t peg you as the sentimental type,” teased Starscream.

“Negative,” Soundwave dropped his helm from Starscream’s optics to his abdominals. "Fuel is for you. Caution suggested during future engagements with the Unicronians.”

Soundwave walked away before Starscream could try to be contrary and refuse the fuel, and Starscream watched as he left, startled by the generosity and friendly sentiment. Subspacing the fuel, he headed back towards his quarters and recharge, taking a separate path then the one Soundwave had walked down. Just to be safe.

For the first time, the future looked a little less unfriendly.

 

* * *

 

That evening Optimus set the hot blade aside for the last time.

He was grateful to have been spared from going to the celebration and had put the free time to good use. He was finally finished. The hardest part had been the king and queen pieces, the board itself being the easiest. He set the completed chess set on the small table and began assembling the pieces into their proper places.

He really hoped this would work.

Optimus settled down, admiring his work for a while, and then boredom had struck. He wasn’t in the mood for reading as he was a bit anxious about Megatron’s forthcoming reaction to his gift. He ended up settling for a hot shower and then recharge. He was perfectly clean, but the hot fluid would calm him and settle his circuits.

After a long soak, Optimus finally settled on the berth and drifted off.

***

 

His quarters were dark and quiet when Megatron had finally returned very late into the evening, having thoroughly enjoyed the celebrations. Even better, Starscream and Soundwave had finally made nice. Whatever had happened, it was clear the problem between them had been settled.

Megatron strode through the door and walked quietly into the middle of the dark room, looking for his berth mate. His optics and the light from his plating illuminated the room well enough and he quickly spotted the prone form of Prime nestled against the far wall of the berth. He had thoughtfully left plenty of room for his returning leader.

Megatron stepped forward, considering joining him immediately as it was very late, but he was still too cycled up from the party. He decided to sit down for a while instead and cycle down. He turned and strode towards the table with its compliment of crude chairs.

Then he stopped in mid-stride, startled.

What caught Megatron’s attention is sitting centermost on the table. It is a playing board of some kind, one he has never seen before. He stepped towards it and leaned over, staring down at the well-made game board with its ornate little pieces.

_What…?_

Next to it was a data pad.

Megatron looked it over carefully, and reached out to turn it on. The little data pad glowed, its screen flashing a white light in the darkness.  
It was a natural history book file, he realized, and there was a note saved before the official reading would begin. He read it carefully, mouthing out the words.

‘A gift for you. The plot I have devised against you and with it I intend your utter defeat. You are welcome to try and stop me. This data pad is the other item you have seen me subspace. It is also not a weapon, though I suppose I could dash you over the helm with it. Please do not delete it.’

Megatron felt a sudden rush of heat over his body and his plating flared. He reached out his fingers and picked up one of the intricately carved game pieces. Each piece had clearly been carefully carved, showing several weeks’ worth of personal effort on Megatron's behalf.

Megatron’s eyes glowed brightly, alight with a brilliant gleam. He set the first one down and then carefully picked up another game piece, and smiled down at it. He set it back and looked over at Prime, electromagnetic fields pulsing with sheer joy, delighted by the gift.

 _This._ Megatron thought, touching the board with his fingers. _I was not expecting this._ He had no words for the sensation that roared through him and he grinned over at the recharging form, beyond delighted. He shook his helm and considered waking his companion, but decided to wait until the morning.

_What a perfect gift._

Megatron's spark shot through with warmth and satisfaction as he thought, _t_ _his is proof that things are getting better between us._ _  
_

 

* * *

 

Morning dawned clear.

Starscream headed out of his quarters and strode down the corridor towards the throne room, still thinking about the last previous battle. Megatron had commed him, demanding his presence for a meeting in the throne room. Apparently he had some ideas about their next attack plans and wanted to discuss changes to Starscream’s armada flight procedures and patrols.

Starscream’s mind kept returning to the last battle with the Unicronians. Something had been different this last skirmish.

It had been a good battle, but he had been aggressively targeted by the Sweeps throughout the entire engagement. It was getting to the point of being excessive. It was counter-productive for the Unicronian troops though as none of them could hope to match his speed, and a large number of Galvatron’s troops had been coaxed to follow him and his command trine out into the skies and away from their fortress.

It was unfortunate that the miserable weather had cut short the attack. The Unicronians were sure to move to a new location now that their old one was missing a roof.

_Ha!_

Then Starscream saw Astrotrain and Motormaster duck out of his way, heading up the corridor towards Megatron’s quarters. He could hear the _chink-chink_ of chains, but couldn’t see anything in their servos.

“Commander Starscream,” Astrotrain greeted him with a polite dip of his head.

Starscream tipped his head and kept walking. _Wonder what they are up to?_   He mused on that for a moment. The only rooms down that corridor were the command level quarters, larger rooms converted for personal use for Megatron, Soundwave, and himself.

Starscream mentally shrugged, and continued down to the throne room and Megatron.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was up early the next morning, earlier than usual.

It was a close thing, but Megatron decided to let Prime sleep on. He could tell that Prime was feeling so very comfortable and hadn’t even stirred when he'd left their berth. Megatron hovered over him for a long moment, tempted. He laid the palm of his black servo against the small of Prime's back strut, but Prime remained deep in recharge.

 _We have the evening for Prime to teach me to play,_ he decided. After touching a game piece with another surge of delight, Megatron left Prime to his dreams, striding out of their quarters with a spring in his step, already well anticipating the evening.

 

* * *

 

.....................................................................................................................................................................................

 

Prime was still deep in recharge when they slunk into the room, not long after Megatron had left.

Astrotrain crept up on the recharging frame and pounced. He covered Prime's helm with a large thick rag so he couldn’t see his attackers. The two heavy builds didn't speak at all and they gave him no opportunity to see who they were or otherwise identify them.

Motormaster straddled him and took a moment to land several vicious blows to the trapped body beneath him. Working together to control him, they applied the stasis cuffs, using them only long enough to get the chains onto him, which was their real intent. They quickly applied the restraints as they had previously discussed. They creatively bound Prime down and forced a smaller chain through his intakes. Their servos were harsh and heavy, and they could tell Prime was panicking the tighter the chains became.

“Who are you? Did Megatron send you to do this?” and Prime barely gasped out his demand at his attackers before a rag was stuffed roughly into his intakes. The rag that covered his optics was carefully replaced with straps, painfully tightened to ensure he was fully blind.

Motormaster silently sneered and grabbed his helm, squeezing it harshly, jerking Prime’s head up and down in a clear answer of _yes_. It wasn't actually true, but they knew that Megatron would be the one to enjoy their efforts, and so for the two thugs it was all good.

They heard Prime huff in miserable realization of a long feared betrayal, working his intakes around the thin chain now running through them.

Astrotrain stood back for a moment and admired their work.

A thin chain ran down inside Prime’s intakes and around and out his deeper vents, tightly connected to a cuff around his ankle struts. He was on his back and forced to arch his back strut and neck to ease the strain on his vents and intakes. His arms were bound beneath him with a thicker chain, shoulders pulled rigid. Legs splayed out and folded back, fully exposing his array for any use, chains coiling back to his neck, slung out and around the berth hold him utterly fast, all coiled through a master lock. The position of his body and the chains around him were far too tight for comfort. But they were perfect for a damned vicious interface. Every piece of his tense metal plating spoke of twisted miserable beauty and grinding discomfort.

Astrotrain grinned at Motormaster as they looked over their work. _Nice,_ Astrotrain signed silently with his hands at his cohort. _He looks incredible like this. Boss is gonna love it._

 _I fraggin love it,_ Motormaster signed back, and ran a servo down the chained and helpless Autobot. Prime gave one good thrashing struggle, and then fell quiet and still. His in-vents become even and quiet as he forced himself to calm down. He was completely bound and yet to the optics of his attackers he still held some ethereal air of dignity around him.

 _This was a great idea,_ Astrotrain signed at his cohort with glee. _Now just gotta make sure the boss never traces this back to us. You know he would punish us no matter how much fun he has with this._

He knew the punishment for something like this would be brutal. Nobody touches Megatron’s things. Fortunately Soundwave hadn’t been up and around long enough for the base to be properly covered in surveillance yet. It was still possible to get away with slag, at least for now. They were careful and Prime hadn’t seen them. He had no idea who was responsible.

 _Still gotta open him up._ Motormaster signed at him and then snapped off the cover of Prime’s interface array. He threw it to the side.

 _Fragger has a nice valve._ Astrotrain signed, lustfully. _I would hit that so hard._

 _Don’t mind if I do,_ Motormaster signed back, and slapped Prime's valve harshly. Prime jerked in his bindings with a strangled hiss.

 _Careful,_ Astrotrain warned with his fingers. _Megatron doesn’t like it when mechs touch his stuff. We just gonna string him up for the boss, remember?_

The signed symbol for 'Megatron' was a big firing gun. Running it through his fingers reminded Astrotrain of the very, very real threat and risk he was taking, being in Megatron's quarters and messing with Megatron's things without permission. And with no real gain for himself. He felt a flash of worry as he suddenly didn't like the look in Motormaster’s consistently malicious optics. They had been talking about pulling this stunt for a few days now, but it was always just a chain deal; string him up and leave him open and ready for Glorious Leader as a gift or prank.

But Motormaster was enjoying this way too much.

 _You saw what he looked like,_ Motormaster signed persuasively at Astrotrain. _Megatron likes him busted bloody. Real bloody._

Both of them had seen what Prime had looked like within days of his capture thanks to Hook. Appearances had definitively been kept and it was still assumed by the rank and file that Megatron was responsible for that original damage; done no doubt while breaking Prime in and resulting in his current submissive and compliant state.

 _Frag that, I didn’t agree to this!_ Astrotrain waved his hands back in alarm. _You are going to get us both in serious slag! You know damn better than to frag off the boss and break his stuff. He can bust up his own toy without our help, mech! That’s half the fragging fun!_

Motormaster scowled at his partner in crime. _Whatever. Don’t blow a fuse. I know what I am doing._ _Slag off if you are going to freak now, bolt chewer._

 _Think I’m going to do just that. All I did was chain him up. That’s all we were going to do._ _Everything else is on your helm,_ Astrotrain threatened with a final wave of his servo.

And then he left without another signed word.

Motormaster watched him go, and then grinned down at Prime, who was laid out blind and helpless before him. His hatred for this Autobot ran deep and he found he was unable to keep from indulging himself.

He started by grabbing and twisting every limb back and forth, making sure all the chains were painfully tight. He could tell that Prime was deeply flustered by his soft, agitated huffs around the gag in his intakes.

He intended to stick to petty teasing, nothing that would leave any marks. He started by pushing Prime’s head around, pinching his audials. He slapped at the face plates, knocking the Prime’s helm back and forth, then dropped his servos down to the array, cuffing at the soft metal there.

He wanted to tear to shreds the dignity that still clung to Prime like a second plating. He jabbed, pinched, and twisted the nub and anterior nodes, enjoying every pained twitch and jerk and muffled cry.

He grew more agitated, and pulled out the rag in Prime’s intakes as he found himself wanting more, wanting this to be personal. As Prime started to speak he struck him in the intakes, and forced his mouth open.

He bit at the glossa inside, enjoying the cry of pain, and bit down again until deep puncture wounds dripped a mix of internal fluid and oral lubricant down his chin.

He pulled back and stuffed the rag back inside, and wiped his intakes.

Then Motormaster forgot himself, forgot the threat of Megatron and forgot Astrotrain’s warning, and the real beating started. He worked the Prime’s metal over viciously. He was good at this, so good at hurting things.

His strikes were small but harsh, meant to cause as much deep bruising to the under protoform as possible without breaking open or shattering the plating. He could hear how much it hurt in the choking sounds Prime was making around the rag in his intakes.

It aroused him.

Motormaster worked him over from top to bottom, and then sat back. Prime was heaving and shaking, rattling the tight chains holding him down, struggling to ventilate.

He pulled back and smashed a fist into the soft metal of the valve. He watched the body arch in agony, and hit him again.

Then Motormaster started digging out Prime's connector, which was buried as deep in its sheath as it could go. He managed to get two fingers around the tip, and started pulling, forcing the spike out.

It was obviously not pressurized at all, and seemed to have some sort of mostly healed burn wounds.

Motormaster grinned, and squeezed the spike painfully, twisting at the tip. The almost completely muffled shriek of pain was music to him, and he repeated the crushingly painful motion several times, moving down the length.

Then he released the spike and watched it frantically retract back, and he hooked two fingers into the valve instead. He raked his fingers harshly over the soft inner metal, inflicting bruising punishment. His fingers became more and more petty, pulling and twisting. Then he hooked them in again, and this time metal tore under his fingers.

Motormaster lost himself in his hate and forgot his place. He extended his spike, and sunk himself in. Ever since he had seen Prime open when he had been drugged by Hook, all he could think about was this. He pounded the valve brutally, hatefully, just like he imagined Megatron had while the body beneath him writhed. He ground his spike down furiously into soft metal as he found the thought wildly arousing.

Motormaster thought of the vicious punishment frags he had seen Megatron inflict on Starscream, a spectacle he had always deeply enjoyed. The brutal assault he had always wanted to inflict on a subordinate, but couldn't. This was the closest he could get and he savored it.

He did manage to claw back some control over himself though. He knew better than finishing in Megatron’s personal toy. He pulled out and finished in a rag pulled from his subspace.

Motormaster backed away then, regretfully. He really should go.

Then Motormaster walked to the door and looked back. He realized Astrotrain had left it open, and he nervously closed it with a click while still standing inside. He stood there for a few minutes, worried that someone might have heard. He thought of Soundwave and knew he shouldn’t have stayed as long as he had.

The sounds of chains rattling brought his attention back to Prime, and Motormaster watched as Prime start squirming and testing his chains, clearly believing he was now alone in the room. Motormaster watched as he struggled, clearly trying to escape at first, but then just trying to get comfortable somehow. He enjoyed the sight, and then carefully and silently slipped back over to the blind, helpless body.

Motormaster positioned himself and watched the frantic body tremble and shake for a few minutes, and then once Prime had quieted down he smashed his fist into the valve again. Prime had thought he was alone, and thrashed in shocked surprise, arching his back in intense pain.

Motormaster then loudly walked away, opening and closing the door. And he waited. He was not normally a patient mech in any way, but today he made an exception.

He gleefully repeated his vile little game over and over, sometimes even sliding his spike back in and dry fragging Prime and withdrawing, until he finally remembered himself. He was shocked when he checked his internal chronometer and realized half the day was gone and he had missed his patrol shift completely.

_Frag._

Motormaster enjoyed himself so thoroughly that when he finally left, he forgot to leave the key for the master lock behind.

 


	20. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Galvatron finally gets his servos on one of the two mechs he wants the most. Optimus remains very unhappy with Megatron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-con kissing. Forced minor spark merge. Forced care and inappropriate touches. 
> 
>  
> 
> **PLEASE FULLY READ THIS WARNING BEFORE PROGRESSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: Brutal depiction of the aftermath of sexual torture in the first part of this chapter, very triggery stuff. To avoid the worst of the graphic stuff skip down to the page break series of lines to the rescue.
> 
> Page break looks like this:  
> ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
> 
> I know some folks may have wandered in that liked the gentler interactions in earlier chapters, but this story is very sad and it has progressed to the more serious consequences that it has been building to, as laid out in the many, many mistakes Megatron has made across the chapters.
> 
> It is lots of angst from here on out until the end. “…and horrible things occur” is very accurate though I know it took a while to get here. **SERIOUSLY – HEED THE WARNINGS!**
> 
> Sad ending warning now fully in play. Thanks again everyone for the comments, all comments and critiques are dearly loved. <3 :)

Optimus Prime groaned, and swallowed thickly.

The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of his struggling vents ... for the faint rattle as his pained frame twisted in his tightly confining chains. It had been hours since the last attack. They had finally ceased, but he couldn’t trust that would remain the case.

Squirming in his chains, Optimus flinched at the rattling any movement caused. Not for the first time did he worry he was being watched, that another attacker was just hovering over him, waiting for him to relax.

He moved again, unable to lie fully still for his desperately stretched frame. His shoulder struts and arms were hurting from the abnormal way he was forced to lay on them, rolled and twisted beneath him. His weight was heavy on his arms as his back strut was arched to the limit of its ability, tilted back so his array was at the perfect angle for someone else’s selfish use.

He couldn’t flex his spine properly for the chain through his intakes; it trailed though his ventilation passages and out through his small dorsal vents and was tightly attached to his larger body chains. Anytime he tried to move and relieve his aching back strut, it pulled and dented his delicate internal intake passages. He had to keep his back strut fully arched due to the heavy chains, but the lighter chain forced him back even tighter to keep from damaging his own oral intakes and internal vent passages.

As soon as he was unable to keep himself completely taut, the result would be very damaging to his delicate internal vent plating. His helm was twisted back so far it was stretching the chain in his intakes, and partially cutting off his ventilation. It wasn’t lethal, but it added an extra depth to his misery.

He worked his intakes over and around the thin chain. It kept him from closing his mouth, and trickles of oral fluid were collecting around it, dripping down his chin and neck. He had managed to work the gag out of his oral intakes, soaked with internal fluids from his bitten glossa, which had only finally stopped leaking. He winced as he licked at his lip components to clean his bloody mouth as much as possible, and kept struggling to swallow around the chain.

He had been previously ordered to leave both of his secondary interface plates open by Megatron, and his attackers had dislodged his primary plate. He was entirely exposed, and his valve and spike were throbbing in pain, and he can feel trickles of internal fluid draining out of his ports, dripping down his aft and collecting in a forlorn puddle beneath him.

He in-vented again in another soft gasp. He focused on his stuttered ventilations to calm himself. He had been afraid all along that this sort of brutality would be his fate in Megatron’s custody, but he hadn’t been prepared for how bad it was going to be. This was every bit as bad as his time with Galvatron, worse even, for the creativity.

He gulped in another bit of cool air and struggled to find some sort of inner calm, but there was no dignity to be found. Not splayed out like this. He wasn’t sure how long they were going to leave him bound down, or if he would ever be unchained. No one had said one word to him. He could be left here permanently to suffer and be used like shareware for all he knew.

 _Motormaster was correct in that_ , he realized with another little gasp for air.

Apparently he should have taken the mech’s hissed threats for the warning it had clearly been. He wasn’t sure how many mechs had been at him today (unaware there had only been one). He was certain Megatron had been one of them, or had at least authorized his soldiers the use of his slave. None of them had spilled in him. He remembered Starscream’s order to his armada not to overload in him, assumingly as a sign of respect for Megatron’s ownership over his frame. As far as Optimus was concerned, this was clearly an intentional attack orchestrated by Megatron, as one of his attackers had confirmed when he had first been bound down and assaulted.

 _That Decepticon felt like he couldn’t speak to me, even though he answered my question. Neither of them spoke, both were hiding who they were from me._ He was deeply confused by that. Fear and pain mingled though him and he tried to stretch his aching limbs again. It made no sense to him.

 _Why would Megatron hide the identities of my attackers_ _or bother to hide that he was one of them? What did that accomplish?_

He couldn’t understand why his attackers had bothered to cover his optics or cared to stuff a gag in his intakes. _Megatron could simply order me into any position and take me in any way he wishes. He has already given me such orders. He can force me to take any sort of abuse he wanted to inflict. These chains are unnecessary as he could order me to take this position and I would have to do it, for as long as I had fuel in my frame._

He felt sick down to his protoform at the thought. His owner could do whatever dreadful things he wanted to his slave and even make him beg for it. _Likely that is still coming,_ he realized as his spark lurched within him. _He could force me to be an active participant to my own torture._

The only thing he could think of to explain the bizarre situation was the strange gentleness the Decepticon had continued to show to him, and all of the affectionate gestures. He was really enjoying Optimus as a compliant, obedient slave. It had to be some kind of long running game to Megatron.

 _Did my gift trigger this,_ he wondered, huffing and squirming in misery. Surely it was no coincidence that he had left out the chess set and the data pad, and this attack happened thereafter. _Did he perceive it as some sort of sign that I was truly broken, that he had finally won?_ The last thing he remembered was leaving it out and then going into recharge. Megatron had to have seen it.

 _Or maybe this is his way of indulging himself?_ _Then perhaps he will act as if he was not involved so as to have the best of both situations?_ There was some hope in that otherwise dreadful thought, as he might be unbound if that was the case. There was absolutely no hope of escape otherwise.

It made a twisted sort of sense to him; Megatron enjoyed violent, painful interfacing, but he also wanted Optimus to submit to him willingly. He wanted to injure, but also wanted to be worshiped. He was a brutal tyrant but desired to be loved by his people.

He gasped shallowly as he struggled to ventilate. Those soft in-vents became more and more feeble as time passed.

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

Megatron was having trouble with his stubborn Air Commander. They had been arguing for what seemed like hours. It was late afternoon now, and his audials were strained from the sheer volume of decibels being hurled at him.

Starscream was being especially targeted by the Unicronians. It was bad before, but now it was getting excessive. They chased him as a priority whenever they encountered him and everyone had noticed.

It was clear that Galvatron held a special interest, and his attempts to capture Starscream alive were very blatant. That interest had become impossible to ignore lately and Megatron wanted Starscream to stick to interior flight patrols. Thus he had summoned Starscream to the throne room and gave him his new orders.

Problem solved.

Or not.

The audial-piercing tirade that followed was truly of epic proportions. It was clear to everyone now fleeing the area that Starscream didn’t agree... and not only did he not agree, but he insisted that he could patrol anywhere he damned well pleased, including outer perimeter flights _frag you very much._

“It would be a prudent measure, Starscream.” Megatron was trying to be reasonable as he knew he was asking a lot of Starscream. “This is a problem and as a member of High Command, you are not expendable.”

“The frag I will!” Starscream shrieked in Megatron’s face plates, reaching decibels previously unknown to Cybertronian kind.

Yes, Starscream was careful, yes, he didn’t risk his own plating unnecessarily (lending some to think him a coward instead of the cold, calculating fighter Megatron knew him to be) but what Megatron was ordering was far, far beyond the range of acceptable conduct for a Decepticon Commander, certainly one of such high rank and skill as the Air Commander.

Hiding behind one’s soldiers stunk of cowardice and Starscream's armada would absolutely notice. A Decepticon leader _led._ A leader was expected to be in the thick of the fighting and if he couldn’t do that then he would rapidly lose his position. Being perceived as too weak to handle the dangers of outer perimeter patrols would affect his standing and respect in the optics of his flight mechs and Starscream wasn’t having any of it.

“Why am I to hide behind my armada at your orders? Am I not a member of the Warrior Elite? You think I am too weak to fight my own battles?! Frag you! Frag you _to the pit!”_

Megatron knew Starscream was correct, as he so often was. Megatron certainly wasn’t going to stop leading the charge into battle, so his concern for the loss of key members of high command was clearly hypocritical. His order was unreasonable, as much as he was trying to protect his favorite jet. His soft edges were showing once again and Starscream rejected the underlying concern as the offensive insult it wasn’t meant to be.

Megatron was losing this verbal battle of wills and he knew it. “This has nothing to do with your fighting abilities,” he snarled insistently, “and everything to do with the fact that you are being specifically targeted-”

Starscream had just taken a massive in-vent to prepare for his next verbal assault when he felt a tale-tell lurch in his fuel tanks and he took a step back instead. He was too upset by far and with his internals slightly out of whack, he was likely to purge if he kept up this maniac argument. The oh-so-happy fluttering and bouncing in his abdominals was a potent reminder that he couldn’t afford to lose the contents of his fuel tanks.

The unborn's movements were wildly excitable right now...and then he realized why. _You can hear me, can’t you? You recognize my voice._ Starscream was momentarily distracted for the thought and his own spark flared within him.

 _Life is for the strong,_ Starscream thought at the tiny spark. _I won’t slow down. You better keep up._

The fluttering only increased. _I can. I will._

“Frag you,” Starscream finally hissed at his leader, his wings trembling in fury. “I won’t be hiding behind anyone, for any reason. Unless you intend to beat me to a useless piece of scrap to make me obey, then this conversation is over.” With that, he swiveled on his shapely heel, turned his back to his glitching leader in a clear gesture of insult and stepped away, his wings held proudly erect and aloft.

 _This is unacceptable,_ Starscream fumed as he stormed away. _Megatron is growing weak and sentimental. I would be happy for it, but Galvatron is still out there and until he is dead we can’t afford a weak leader._ Starscream scowled in frustration and he blamed Prime for those soft sentiments, those soft edges. _I have to get Prime out of here, and not take another punishing beating in blame for it._

Starscream’s blue servos reached up and touched after the ever-present, ever joyful fluttering. His denta set in a determined line while powerful, veteran war mechs vacated his general vicinity for the furious cant of his sleek wings.

Megatron glowered furiously after him, but Starscream also had a point about the scrapping. He was trying to take better care after his troublesome consorts on this hellhole of a world they would be spending the rest of their lives on. Life seemed so hostile ... so fleeting here. But Starscream was determined to give him problems, as usual.

 _Hissy little jet,_ Megatron thought after the retreating wings.

 _At least Prime remains grateful for my efforts._ Megatron was looking forward to the evening. He couldn’t stop thinking about Prime, waiting for him in his quarters. He thought of the game board and felt a deep surge of joy from his spark.

Then Megatron saw a blue helm approach, heading toward him. Soundwave stepped forward and approached Megatron. He gestured a request for a private audience, and Megatron inclined his helm in agreement. Then he joined his third-in-command for a short walk around the outer corridors of the throne room, wanting to stretch his pedes.

***

Soundwave was frowning behind his concealing visor. He had detected intense distress from across the ship that morning. Sensing the nature of it, he'd tried to go on about his day and ignore his leader’s business.

Starscream had already assured him plans were in place and that the Autobot would be gone soon. Discretion insisted that he stay out of it for the good of his own plating. But as the hours passed it became difficult to ignore what he was sensing from Megatron's quarters. He'd fought to tune out the anguish until he simply couldn’t anymore.

Now he was walking briskly next to one of his oldest friends, preparing to incite a firestorm he didn’t want for the sake of a mech who shouldn’t matter to him. Soundwave steeled himself and didn’t bother with needless pleasantries. He went straight to the issue.

“Query: intention regarding long-term plans for Autobot slave requested.” Soundwave tilted his head and waited.

 _Straight to the point,_ Megatron thought. _One of Soundwave’s many admirable qualities._ He knew Soundwave would not intrude upon his privacy by reading his mind unless given permission and never bothered to hide his thoughts.

Megatron did bristle for a moment, remembering the minor confrontation in the throne room and Soundwave’s disapproval. But he knew without doubt what he was doing with Prime was appropriate and necessary. He was confidant he need only explain that to Soundwave and it would be sufficient to settle his old friend’s concerns.

“I intend to keep Prime as my consort,” Megatron answered, equally direct. “He is slave coded to me.”

“Concern: Decepticon policy regarding slaves is clear. Senate punished with death for transgressions including use of slave coding. Cornerstone to original intention and foundation of Decepticon Ideology: the freedom to fight for one’s destiny. Decepticon code is infrangible.”

“Prime is an Autobot, our greatest enemy, and the Autobots are responsible for the original coding,” Megatron reminded him. “He fought against me for millions of years. I am not weeping over his fate, Soundwave.”

“Argument illogical. The Great War is concluded and Decepticon victory achieved. Prime accepted responsibility for escape **as a Decepticon.** Lord Megatron **accepted** plea for mercy. Repeat: freedom is cornerstone of Decepticon Ideology. Decepticon code is in effect and infrangible.”

"I _understand_ and I _did not_ inflict the slave code on him,” Megatron snapped, growing frustrated. “He is bound to me now, with no way to remove the infernal code. He will perish without me and so I am providing for him. He requires certain interactions in regards to care. I am providing that along with base needs.”

“Concern: Slavery infects, spreads corruption without exception. Leadership will be corrupted by such ownership. As slave coding cannot be removed, request that Autobot slave is released for the good of Decepticon Leadership.”

Megatron glowered at that.

“Absolutely not. I have been more than generous with him. He is kept in a comfortable state and I refuse to allow him to be terminated, which is what will happen if he is released. He is valuable to the Decepticons alive. He is … valuable to me.”

But Soundwave held his ground.

What was emanating from the battered Autobot chained down in Megatron’s quarters held no semblance of comfort or generosity. The cruelty inflicted spoke of a corruption of spark that could only lead to vile places. He didn’t know the circumstances of the situation in Megatron’s quarters, but it could not be left to stand. Megatron was the iron fist of the Decepticon Empire, but Soundwave remained an idealist to his core and he was not afraid to (politely) point out when Megatron was straying from the straight and narrow of Decepticon ideology. When he spoke like this, which wasn’t often, Megatron listened.

“Correction required. Current situation of Autobot slave is not generous. Further punishment without transgression is unacceptable. Reason for maltreatment is inappropriate: pain inflicted with no transgression committed or positive contribution to furthering Decepticon cause.”

Megatron snarled, baring sharp denta as he didn’t understand the nature of the complaint. “I wasn’t responsible for his injuries, either. You didn’t see him when we first brought him in. He is mostly healed.”

Soundwave just stared at Megatron for a long moment, concerned that his leader was being intentionally disingenuous to continue with his clearly unacceptable activities. There was a crystal clear line in the sand regarding appropriate uses of forced interfacing for punishment in the Decepticon code and Megatron was violating it.

Had his beloved leader fallen so far already?

Soundwave had been staying away from the entire situation as he was dreadfully conflicted, torn in all directions by this wretched situation. He was caught between respecting the desires of his beloved leader and the clear infringement of Decepticon ideology that was twinging furiously in his mind, not to mention the deep worry he had for his leader’s mental state.

Slavery was damaging and degrading to both parties; both the slave and the master. It had no redeeming qualities in any way and he knew it must be abolished wherever it was found for the betterment of all.

Beyond that, his emotions were also in utter flux, for the sake of the enslaved Autobot currently suffering in Megatron’s quarters. He couldn't help the gratitude he felt towards Prime for saving his life. It was stupidly dangerous to infuriate Lord Megatron, hence his agreement with Starscream, but the vision of Prime holding Galvatron against cell bars played over and over in his mind.

Soundwave knew his life had been purchased at the expense of Prime’s own freedom. And for that, Soundwave held the line.

“Correction required,” he insisted firmly, his monotone voice thick with disapproval. “Slave currently in great pain. Situation in personal quarters is unacceptable.”

Megatron scowled at him in honest confusion. “What situation?”

 

*** 

 

Optimus heard the door as it opened again. Swallowing messily, he focused on trying to vent. He felt a rush of fear, but he was too exhausted to think anymore. There were two sets of heavy pede steps, and then he heard a furious hiss.

“Prime?”

Optimus felt servos on him, and he jerked slightly for the touch. He could feel the chains move as they are inspected.

“They are locked,” he heard Megatron snarl. “There is no key and I can’t unchain him. Get me something to cut them with.” The second set of pedes left the room with haste.

The blinding straps came off his face plates, but he didn’t bother opening his optics. There was nothing here he wanted to see. He vented feebly again, and swallowed around his chain. Ignoring the mech hovering over him, he continued to focus on his ventilations, little gulps of cooling air around the constriction in his neck and the chain in his vents.

“Prime. Who is responsible for this?”

 _You,_ he thought. He swallowed that accusation though. He didn’t want to say anything to provoke the Decepticon looming over him. He'd been helpless since his slavery to Megatron had started, but right now he was far beyond vulnerable. Dignity was nowhere to be found.

“Answer me.” Megatron sounded _enraged._

“I don’t know,” Optimus coughed out as the coding forced an answer from him. And technically that was the truth. He hadn’t actually seen anyone. He vented again, and determined to maintain his silence as Megatron released a long and furious hiss.

“I assure you Prime, I will find out who is responsible,” Megatron snarled. “They will be punished. I give you my word.”

 _So that is your game then._ Megatron's words felt as a confirmation of his worst fears, and he couldn't keep his frame from shaking in deep dismay. It was a cold betrayal, and he felt so frightened to be so helpless in the face of such empty cruelty. _Calling you out will only mean you drop the pretense of concern, which will do me no good. I have no choice but to play along now._

Optimus swallowed, and forced the expected gratitude out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Megatron responded immediately. “You are safe with me.”

Optimus swallowed again. His burning glossa worked uselessly around the chain in his intakes. He returned his attention to his ventilations and the little gulps of air he could pull in.

Never in his long life had words meant so little to him.

 

***

Megatron was beyond furious.

He had a few suspicions as to who among the homicidal maniacs that comprised his army might be stupid enough to be responsible for this. He intended to have Soundwave look into it to be sure. This outrage would be punished most dearly.

Megatron stared down at the frame chained up on his berth, mesmerized for a moment. The position he was contorted into was dreadful and yet so very beautiful. He shook his helm to clear it and reached out to touch Prime’s face plates, and recoiled at the emotions roaring through his EM fields, tucked as they were so tightly against his frame.

Prime was heaving, optics closed and struggling to ventilate. Megatron clenched his fists, wanting to help, but the chains weren’t something he could just tear through. They would have to be cut, and he would have to wait for the tool needed to do that. Then his optics caught on the much smaller chain. His consort’s helm was twisted with a thin chain winding through his intakes and vents.

That at least, Megatron realized, was something he could help Prime with immediately.

Megatron took hold of the thin chain. He held still for a moment when Prime jerked at the touch; the chain was wound tightly through his delicate internal passages.

“Calm, calm.” Megatron murmured. “Let’s get this out of you.”

He inspected the chain. It looked to be the same one they had used on Divebomb to keep him from transforming during his punishment. Carefully, he snapped it between his two powerful servos and then gently threaded the length between his fingers. He allowed it to carefully move through Prime’s intakes and ease the tightness, working it out inch by inch until it finally pulled free of his vents. Prime pulled in a massive in-vent then and his neck and spinal strut no longer curved so brutally.

Prime groaned at the ease of tension and gulped in great mouthfuls of atmosphere as he frantically cooled his internals.

Megatron then sat down on the berth in between his captive’s splayed legs. He felt Prime stiffen and huff in fear, but he ignored it. What he was doing would be very apparent within a moment to his miserable companion. He carefully slid his legs under Prime’s back and stretched them underneath his berth mate’s body.

Moving slowly, he started pulling him essentially into his lap. He worked himself under until Prime could rest his body across his legs lengthwise, supporting his back strut and taking some of the weight off his arms and shoulders as best he could, even with the chain still holding Prime tightly. He heard Prime moan as the weight of his own body stopped tormenting his shoulder struts and arms. He was gratified to see the chained frame shake in relief.

Megatron slid his servos under the other and reached down to rub his back strut comfortingly, though he frowned at the terrified flinch his servos caused.

Prime kept his optics shuttered.

***

 

Soundwave returned moments later with an improvised chain cutter.

Megatron took it from him and carefully cut Prime free, and Prime collapsed back on the berth, limp with relief. Megatron reached down and pulled him back up. Heavy arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

“I want to know who is responsible for this,” Megatron ordered as he turned and fixed Soundwave with a furious glare.

Soundwave stood as still as a stone, keeping his electromagnetic fields carefully tucked to avoid revealing how concerned he was. While he was relieved that his leader was not responsible for this vile situation, there was clearly another problem. What he was sensing from his leader made him extremely uncomfortable. This situation between Megatron and Prime was far more … serious … then he'd realized.

Soundwave tilted his helm and answered Megatron without pause. “Request; difficult. Surveillance systems not yet online. Internal comm system for base: priority.” He watched as Megatron checked over Prime’s injuries, the warlord insistently holding his captive in his arms. The sheer gentleness of his touches made it obvious he was far more personally invested then he'd let on.

“I understand the difficulties, Soundwave. You are fully authorized to use any means necessary. I want answers.”

“Understood. Investigation will begin immediately.”

Soundwave didn’t regret confronting Megatron, but he did regret how his disapproval had been laid out on the table so clearly. From the emotions boiling off Megatron, it was critically important that Soundwave not be involved when Prime was finally either freed or destroyed.

Glorious Leader would not be sensible about the loss, and now Soundwave would be the first suspect if anything suspicious happened. He tilted his helm respectfully at Megatron, and then opened his private comm. “Starscream, request secure channel.”

“My private line is always secure,” Starscream's snarky voice came through his line.

“Autobot has been injured in sustained attack.”

“Wasn’t me,” Starscream confirmed immediately. “However, I did see something suspicious this morning. Motormaster and Astrotrain were walking down the corridor towards command quarters. I didn’t see anything, but I think I might have heard chains.”

“Why did you not report this," Soundwave demanded, "or question them?”

“Who would be stupid enough to cross Megatron?”

Soundwave blinked and then sighed. Both of them, apparently.

***

 

Optimus slowly sat up, still nestled in Megatron’s lap.

He tried to pull back to work himself free, but the supportive arms around him would not relent. He held still before he was ordered to, and the arms around him squeezed him even closer.

Optimus suddenly stiffened. He'd wanted to purge his tanks halfway through the afternoon, but managed to hold the contents in to keep from choking on his own fluids. Now though, he felt his control slipping. His tanks roiled furiously as their contents pushed at the back of his throat.

 _Master will not want to be dirtied,_ he thought irritably and the code released his limbs. The coding would have held him still - his owner clearly wanted him to stay put - but his master’s comfort was its first priority.

Optimus tore himself free of Megatron, who sat back in surprise but then lunged after him. He made it into the basin in the washracks and purged violently. A dark, controlling servo landed on his shoulder an instant later, but backed off as Megatron realized what his captive was trying to do.

“Stay here for now, Prime.” The servo on his shoulder squeezed him in an attempt to be reassuring. “I will be right back. Soundwave, watch him. I am going to the medbay for a few things.”

“Affirmative.”

He heard Megatron stride away and felt the cool presence of Soundwave behind him. He didn’t look back and just dry heaved for a while, until his tanks calmed enough that he felt he could sit up. His back strut and intakes were still on fire, and he rumbled softly as he stretched them.

 _This is confirmation,_ he was certain, his spark churning within him. _This is his game. He is going to torture me to death, slowly, one sadistic scenario at a time._ Clearly Megatron had tipped his hand with the data pad. This setup had been on Megatron’s vile list, though a bit different in description. Starscream had even confirmed there was a list. No wonder Starscream was helping him; he must have known what Megatron was planning.

“Negative.” Soundwave’s distinctive, metallic monotone startled him.

 _He is listening to my thoughts,_ Optimus realized with alarm.

“Lord Megatron is not intending torture. He is concerned for your functioning. Attack unacceptable and culprits will be punished.”

 _I don’t believe you,_ he mentally accused Soundwave without turning. He closed his eyes instead, angry with all of the games and lies. _You told me you serve Megatron. You told me no aid was coming, and I believe you. He is playing this sick game and you are helping him._

“Negative.” Soundwave said again, firmly.

Optimus just ignored him. Obviously Megatron wanted to stretch out his facade as long as possible. It could take him months to die from sexual injuries from the number of entries he had seen. It had only just started, and it would get worse and worse. His suffering would be heinous and his death unspeakable.

**“Negative.”**

Optimus disregarded the monotone voice as the work of an enemy. Soundwave waited with him, silent, his fields pulsing with frustration.

Soundwave's words held no weight here.

***

 

Megatron could tell that Prime had fallen into a deep stupor - barely even thinking - by the time he returned. Megatron sent Soundwave away, and then stood over his captive for a long moment.

_What a mess._

He was dismayed by the state of his frightened companion. _I was going to thank him for the gift tonight. Everything is ruined. Whoever is responsible will pay,_ he promised himself, his servos tightening to fists.

Turning on the fluid to rinse the basin for use, Megatron turned and reached down to pick his berth mate up. He carefully moved Prime back to the berth to wait, not liking the feel of his EM fields at all. Normally Prime was surrounded with an almost ethereal calm, dignity, and lately, grief and depression. The darker emotions certainly wandered across his fields from time to time, but they never had a home in his being. But right now the emotional state of his companion was alarming.

Prime had been rescued, but he remained every bit as frightened as when he'd been bound in the chains.

 _Decepticons are far more pragmatic about such things,_ he thought in frustration. ‘Don’t get mad, get even’ was very much a thing for them. Starscream had mostly bounced back from his attack in the time it took to fly home, and Divebomb had been much the same (though his punishment had been well deserved, according to Decepticon thinking).

Megatron tried to touch and stroke along the sore neck cables and the cheek plates to sooth some of the deep fear as they waited for the basin to fill. But in the place of the comfort those touches had brought his companion just the previous day, fear and resentment bloomed instead.

 _He is really hurting,_ Megatron thought with a frown. He stepped away and returned with a small dose of medication in a syringe. He took a moment to administer a mild painkiller. The medication was precious, as they had very little of it left and so many were injured in the frequent attacks of their enemies. Megatron himself went without, shouldering through any and all injuries and pain. He avoided giving Optimus the heavy medication Hook preferred, as they were getting low on that as well and it was needed for surgeries.

Prime took the injection without a word, but the gentle touches offered didn’t calm him. Nothing seemed to calm Prime. Megatron wouldn’t have dared try to be as supportive as this with Starscream as his jet would have been completely insulted at the display; taking any concern as pity and insult.

But Megatron knew Autobots were a different matter entirely.

“What can I do to help you?” Megatron finally asked. He was unsure of how to relieve the fear the other was feeling. The question forced Prime out of his stupor and he looked up at Megatron for a moment. Then he worked his intakes as the coding required him to answer truthfully.

Prime in-vented. “Release me.” His vocalizer was firm.

Megatron shook his helm. _Back to this again._ “No. Absolutely not. You can’t even walk.”

Prime pulled in another deep, full ventilation. “Release me and I promise you I will.” His intakes rattled as he coughed out his answer.

Megatron looked him over, from his shaking body to his dim optics and internal fluid leaking from his ports. He shook his helm in disbelief. “Walk to the table,” and that order was given without forethought, calling Prime’s bluff.

Prime released the vent and dragged himself to his pedes, took three or four wobbling steps and then collapsed onto the floor. His over-strained back strut and surrounding joints were not taking any more stress tonight, and had given out.

Megatron grunted unhappily at the sight. Vindicated, he stepped up and took hold of Prime. He hesitated at the feel in his companion’s field. They were still thrumming with pain and fear and shock ... and now a deep undercurrent of embarrassment was added to the mix. This was not helping in the slightest.

“That was rude of me, wasn’t it,” Megatron murmured, awareness dawning. And right after he had offered to help. Something cringed at the back of his possessor, something utterly foreign to him.

 _I am being an aft,_ Megatron realized. It was something of a milestone moment for him.

 _Par for the course,_ Optimus thought at him, but didn’t open his optics. He took Megatron’s question to be a rhetorical one and didn’t answer it.

“Releasing you would mean your death,” Megatron explained while trying not to sound flustered. “I told you, I will make this right. Punishment will be swift.” Megatron pulled Prime up, and helped him sit back on the berth as he spoke and supported the frame with his own in the apology he knew he owed the other.

Prime didn’t answer him, keeping his optics closed. He was firmly back to being silent, and would only speak if forced. He wasn’t really sure what had triggered this first attack, but the safest he had been was when he was quiet, and he fell back to that.

“I am trying to be… sympathetic,” Megatron said firmly. His fields actually reflected his assertion. He was trying to be reassuring though he knew he was dreadful at it. “Now, answer the question. What can I do for you, right now, that would help you?”

Megatron was deeply upset. Prime was under his protection. This should never have happened. No one in their right processor would ever cross him this way ... it was a personal attack on them both and no one touched his things!

Normally Megatron would be trashing someone for whatever transgression had caused the distress and that would be the end of it, a resolution splattered in blood and grim satisfaction. There had only ever been him, only ever his desires and wants. And now there was Prime, and he was responsible for this mech. But in this situation he had no idea what to do. He was unaccustomed to hurting for others and his normal coping mechanisms for when he was distraught were not helping here.

Prime swallowed again, still working his intakes.

He had to say something, and finally settled on asking for the obvious thing, something he knew would happen anyway. He huffed and answered, “bath," while wiping at his face in embarrassment. His body was covered in internal fluid, and oral lubricants coated his chin and neck and helm. There was too much to merely wipe away. Even worse was the state of his interface array, coated as it was in a mix of foreign lubricants and his own internal fluid. The mess was dripping down his array, aft, and thighs, painting him to the tune of someone else's cruel pleasure.

“Well obviously,” Megatron said patiently while getting to his pedes. The basin sounded full now, ready for them. “What else?”

“Strut hurts,” Prime finally mumbled as he had to answer. “Back,” he clarified.

“Yes, that is something I can help with,” Megatron sounded relieved. _I will have the perpetrators write him an apology in their own internal fluids after I am done with them,_ he decided. The sooner Prime was soothed the better.

“Come then, let's get you cleaned up.”

Prime got slowly to his feet and then wobbled a bit. But the painkiller was taking effect and he felt a little steadier. Then Megatron reached for him and he instinctively tried to push the other away. He flinched as the coding tinged a warning at him; he was not to get physically aggressive with his master.

Megatron wouldn’t have cared, anyway.

He gently ran his arm under the back of Prime’s knees and scooped him up in spite of his fussing. Consent was always a blurry (and so often non-existent) line to him. He didn’t think much of it as he was used to ignoring the complaints of his damaged lovers. This particular one being the quieter of the two…and he obviously was not going to make Prime walk again.

Megatron winced and pulled the other mech snug against his warm plating. Starscream would have punched his face plates in for such a thoughtless move while the jet recovered from injury. He was reminded of his fussy jet; carrying Starscream back to the base after his attack. Megatron kept the shaky frame close and walked into the washracks.

 _I need to be more careful with this one,_ he admonished himself. _He can’t defend himself. I will make a damned good example of the stupid glitches responsible for this._

“You were doing so well, almost entirely healed.” Megatron murmured, honestly distraught. “I thought we would be finished with such nonsense by now. This attack will be punished.”

Prime ignored the words and gasped when he was lowered into the hot fluid. He closed his eyes and kept them closed as Megatron joined him in the basin a moment later. His frame was arranged so they were resting front to front.

Megatron settled his companion on top of him while leaning back in the basin. Prime’s front is submerged while his back remained out of the fluid, for the strut rub. Black servos electrify and the hands work over the aching plating as promised. But there is a strong reaction from Prime at the intimate touch, reflecting through his fields.

It wasn't pleasant.

A slow, dreadful realization dawned for Megatron in the long moments that followed. Gradually he became aware of the accusation hanging between them as no amount of gentle touches or attempted reassurances calmed Prime.

There was another long, silent moment as Megatron processed what he was feeling in Prime’s fields. “You blame me for this, don’t you?” There was a hint of…something…in his vocalizer.

Prime coughed, and then he squirmed, and his struggles against the slave coding answer Megatron's question better than any words could.

Then Prime had to answer. “Yes.”

Megatron was silent for a long moment. Then reactivated his servos and returned his fingers to task, working the sore back. Prime groaned into Megatron's neck, aching to his core. Slowly the tension eased as Megatron's servos moved in steady circles over his back strut, up and down, and his miserable frame finally relaxed under the electric stimulation.

But there was no change to the fear and resentment in his fields.

“Why do you… believe I am responsible?” The strange tone in Megatron’s vocalizer was stronger now, an under-rumble Prime had never heard before. But he doesn’t waste any thought over it...couldn’t be _hurt,_ of that he was certain. You have to be emotionally invested in someone to be hurt by them in such a way.

However, he'd been asked a question and Prime did worry over answering it, unsure how safe it was to respond. Finally he just answered the question directly. “One of the attackers indicated you sent them, when I asked.”

Prime recoiled then - little splashes of fluid when he jolted - as he felt a strange and terrible fury shoot through Megatron beneath him. It could only be called homicidal. He could hear the grind of denta, could hear cooling fans turning on and up-ticking as white hot rage boiled through Megatron and heated his internals.

“That is not true,” Megatron said quietly.

Prime swallowed noisily, and part of him wanted nothing more than to believe that and relax and nestle into the warmth and comfort offered by the other frame. The rest of him remained utterly afraid.

The backrub continued uninterrupted and that dreadful rage did not materialize beyond Megatron's flared plating. Instead, dark servos continued to sooth and Prime felt Megatron slowly calm beneath him until his pain eased enough for recharge. Megatron’s field was still predominantly angry, but overwhelming that rage was frustration and finally, resignation.

Megatron was aware how utterly damning this must look to Prime, but he was desperate to salvage what he could of the wonderful progress they had made.

“I can prove I was not responsible,” Megatron offered carefully, “If you allow me to share my spark with you. A merge would prove the truth as there can be no lies between sparks.”

***

 

“I refuse,” Optimus whispered from where his helm lay in the crook of Megatron's neck and shoulder. He spoke without the slightest hesitation. “You will have to force it of me.”

There was no way he would ever give permission for Megatron to touch him so intimately. While consent has never had any place between them in this room, a forced spark merge was violation on an entirely different level.

His spark was his purest being, a tiny fragment of a greater glory, a piece of their God, Primus. To touch it… was to touch the face of their Creator. They were all fragments of the One, and in death they were all reunited and made whole. Hence the benediction ‘til all are one.’

Megatron had always respected that sacred inner light, never crossing that line with him. Hopefully the respect for the inner being both factions honored would hold true throughout whatever would be happening to him now that all control was lost.

Megatron said nothing for a long time.

Finally he sighed and spoke. “Very well.” He sounded so depressed when he continued, “We will start over from the beginning. We have the rest of our lives, after all. Your trust in me as your leader is important. I meant it when I said things would get better. This will not happen again.”

 _I don’t believe you,_ Optimus thought, but said nothing more. He had not been asked a question and there was no point in confronting Megatron any further. It would do him no good.

 _I still have a chance to escape,_ Optimus reminded himself. _I will do what I must to stay unbound._

 _Starscream’s gambit is still in play,_ he reassured himself.

_Let Megatron think I am broken._

 

* * *

 

Soundwave stood in the corridor, patient as death.

He had no logs to check, no surveillance recordings to search, but he did have his vast knowledge of the homicidal glitches that made up the rank and file of the Decepticon army, and the first suspect on his list will be passing though this corridor shortly. Technically everyone was on the list of suspects, but some were far lower than others.

The armada was very low on the list, as was Swindle and most of the even-tempered members of his faction.

Astrotrain was on corridor patrol, and he was the first stop on Soundwave’s wave of inquisitions this morning... the primary suspect. Fortunately he didn’t have long to wait.

Rounding the corner, Astrotrain blinked when he saw Soundwave standing in the passage before him. He played it cool and nodded a greeting as he approached. He was as skilled at basic deception as any of the other Decepticons, but he knew he was in deep slag the moment Soundwave stepped into his path and set his pedes.

Astrotrain swallowed carefully as he came to a halt in front of Soundwave. There were two options here; he could lie or tell the truth. Lies to cover one’s own plating were preferable, and yet there is something in the stance of the cold mech in front of him.

Astrotrain made his choice, trusting he was far too valuable as a soldier to die for this. After all, he had only chained Prime down, not damaged him. Begging Megatron for mercy for stupid pranks gone wrong happened often enough with Skywarp around.

“So,” Astrotrain said as he raised his servos in mock surrender with a cocky grin. “Did the boss like his present?”

Soundwave’s visor flashed. “Negative.”

Astrotrain made a show of looking hurt. “I just chained him up though. He looked so pretty. Didn’t hurt him-”

“Autobot is injured. Lord Megatron is…most displeased.”

Astrotrain’s optics widen in realization but not surprise. _That fragging idiot…_ Astrotrain was a petty thug and knew when his number was called. He did the smart thing and threw Motormaster under the bus.

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawned, and Prime come out of recharge stiff and miserable.

His body ached powerfully and he was too stiff to move, but he didn’t want to be touched. Ever polite, he asked for a moment to steady himself while using as few words as possible with Megatron, who hovered over him.

Megatron considered his request and then moved away to give him some space. But as he watched Prime try to stretch himself it became very clear that Prime could hardly straighten his back strut for the pain.

Then Prime made the mistake of crying out.

 _This is ridiculous._ Megatron frowned as he decided that letting Prime stew in his own pain wasn’t going to be useful for either of them and re-engaged. Another dose of painkiller was given, another gentle comforting touch.

“Throttle down,” Megatron ordered firmly at the look Prime gave him. “I know what you think of me and you are wrong.”

Then Megatron’s hands descended upon him, electromagnetically charged, and began to massage him powerfully, starting at his sore neck and downwards, servos leaving a soothing trail down Prime's aching metal plating.

Prime huffed and huffed throughout the long and thorough massage. Megatron's strong and otherwise comforting fields intermingled with his fearful ones and his spark surged at the soothing touch despite himself, aching for the desperately needed comfort. Megatron hadn’t let him up until the other could stand and move off the berth on his own.

Then he was distraught to discover that Megatron had the entire day off to tend him; there would be no reprieve today. The gentle touches and occasional defensive comments continued from the morning to the afternoon, and Optimus’ sense of confusion only deepened. It was impossible to deceive using an EM field. It was merely a reflection of the emotional state (with only a little of the physical state) of the mech emanating it.

Megatron was upset and concerned, with a strong dash of frustration.

There was no other way to describe the feel of the field that flowed over him whenever Megatron engaged him, which was often. Multiple times Optimus fearfully tried to push the other away even as the coding limited his movements. Each time he ended up on his front, ordered down and touched and rubbed and stroked. Every piece of his aching frame was worked over until the pain lessened its grip on him.

_Do you not understand that trust cannot be forced?_

Prime shivered in irritation during one such moment, swallowing fearfully while pulled close to the other's warm frame. His body was fearful now, but the narrative didn’t make sense. His confusion remained endless.

Megatron seemed determined to coax words out of his vocalizer, only stopping short of actually ordering him to speak. Megatron wanted to chat; wanted that easy back and forth they had been managing recently. Nothing in Megatron’s fields or actions made any sense in light of the attack.

Prime tried to stop thinking about it. He was giving himself a helm ache trying to make sense of out a senseless situation. One of the pieces of this puzzle, one of the assumptions that made up this situation didn’t fit, but he refused to entertain the notion that Megatron was actually blameless in the attack.

Not when so many of the pieces pointed in his direction.

Prime laid his helm back on the chair he was currently sitting in. He opened his intakes to pull in a little more air and tried to relax, the stress of this relentless day exhausting him.

Megatron sat across from him, watching him contemplatively while gently turning a game piece over and over in his fingers. He started to ask, but Prime just closed his optics and jerked his helm before he could be ordered to do anything. Leaving his optics closed, he ignored the soft rumble of disappointment.

The silence stretched for a long moment.

Then Megatron reached out a servo and cupped the neck of the other mech, and pulled down until Prime was staring back at him with anxious, fearful blue optics.

Prime narrowed his optics. _Leave me alone._

Megatron frowned at him. _I can’t do that. This situation is intolerable._

Prime groaned in frustration. _You have to stop. I don’t know what to do with you._

Megatron glanced down at his chest plates and back up at Prime. _I do. Let me prove myself._

“Absolutely not.” Prime's optics narrow in warning. _You will have to take it and I won’t forgive it._

A black servo reached out and touched his cheek. _Then tell me how else to fix this._

“Release me.” Prime answered. _I can’t take this anymore._

Megatron sighed, and shook his helm. _No. Never._

“I am going to lie down,” Prime finally murmured. He recharged until evening.

 

***

“Put me down. Leave me in peace.”

“That is not possible. Not with you like this.”

It was evening and Prime was seated in Megatron's lap after being given his next dose of painkiller, and Megatron clearly wanted to comfort him somehow. Megatron tried to pull him close and he rejected the touch.

Prime only verbally refused, which was all he could do, all he'd been doing the entire day. But apparently it was enough, because yet again Megatron backed off a bit. The nameless feeling in Megatron’s spark was churning and churning within him. Normally a source of joy, it was now a fountain of ache. The frustration was rolling off him in waves.

“This is … intolerable.”

“Release me.”

Megatron just stared at him.

“Nothing,” Prime answered that look without hesitation. “Nothing will help.” And that was the full and final truth. All he wanted was his freedom.

And that was the one thing Megatron would never give him.

The nameless emotion continued to churn in his spark and Megatron stared at Prime. Stared at the dejected, hurting plating, the tired eyes, the mouth squeezed closed into the thinnest line imaginable and Megatron's optics flashed in anger at the utter rejection. Then he swallowed thickly, and looked away. He in-vented and then his optics hardened a bit as he came to a decision.

“You will be silent,” Megatron ordered quietly. “Lay on your back plates.” He saw Prime’s mouth open in alarm as he was forced - in perfect silence - to obey. “Now close your optics and relax.”

Megatron settled over his captive then, mindful of his sore plating, and took a moment to ventilate. He had done this with Soundwave, and the end result had been joyful. He wasn’t willing to just sit back and watch the progress he'd made be thrown away. Not when he could do something about it.

“Open,” Megatron ordered, touching the bright red chest plates. The metal panes opened at his order, as they had to. The space where the matrix had been was empty. There beneath it, tucked safely in its chamber, was Prime’s spark.

It was beautiful, so very beautiful; an exquisite blue swirl of precious life and light.

Megatron admired it openly for many long moments. He suppressed the urge to touch around it, or to hold it in his fingers, something only the most trusted lover would ever be allowed to do. Then he opened his chest plates and exposed his own inner light. He could see Prime was heaving. He watched as Prime made a frantic gesture for speaking, optics still closed as ordered.

“No,” Megatron answered the frightened gestures. “Listen to me. I am not going to harm you. I didn’t harm you. I _refuse_ to be held responsible for the crimes of another. If you are going to be furious with me, then let it be for something I am actually responsible for.”

And with that he dipped down, carefully and very slowly bringing the two lights near each other. He showed as much restraint for this beloved other as he could, dipping down but stopping just above the innermost being of the Prime. The two life forces reached out of their own accord, the soft tendrils of life and light intertwining, entangling together but not fully merging.

Through that tentative connection Megatron forced all of his alarm at finding his berth mate in such a horrible state. His anguish at the loss of Prime's tentative trust and a good strong pulse of that nameless rush of feeling he felt whenever he admired the other.

 _I did not harm you,_ Megatron's deepest, most inner being whispered over the connection.

The emotions and thoughts of the other were just starting to come through to him but Megatron pulled his spark back and ended their connection. The brush of their energies was only long enough to let his spark explain the truth clearer then any words could ever hope to convey. Anything more would be only further violation, and he knew he had already well crossed the line with this.

“Close,” Megatron said, softly.

Megatron closed his own plating and his own frame was shaking for the intimate touch he had felt. He sat back, venting softly. Then his spark surged as he felt the beloved mech beneath him slowly relax as the deep, dreadful fear and anger faded entirely. In its place bloomed realization and understanding, and with that came the dignity and eternal calm and depression so wonderfully familiar to Megatron.

 _I was right to do this,_ he thought, feeling vindicated. So many of his far-reaching life decisions revolved around the concept that the ends justify the means…

Megatron slumped over his lover in relief.

***

 

_He wasn’t responsible._

It was the first coherent thought that twisted through Optimus’ mind after the other spark touched his own. He was _stunned_ at the feelings that had roared across his deepest, innermost being from the other spark. _He really wasn’t responsible. The list was a mistake, he didn’t send my attackers, he doesn’t intend to harm me and he … loves…_

 _No. Not ... me._ Optimus had realized the truth in the next moment as the other spark quickly withdrew from him with one last apologetic pulse for the intrusion.

The beloved image of him that he'd seen in Megatron’s spark did not reflect his reality. It was not his face plates in the mirror in the mind of the other. It wasn't real, any more than the silver lord in his own mind was real. The silver being that appeared before him in his fever dreams was the phantom he had entertained in his most private fantasies; an idealized version of Megatron that did not exist.

 _He believes we are lovers,_ Optimus realized with shock.

Optimus inhaled softly as Megatron slumped over him. For his part, Megatron was in-venting deeply, completely overcome with the sensations and the deep brush of the beloved other across his very spark.

Optimus was also overwhelmed, but above the spark bliss, his processor were roiling. _He no longer even perceives me as his slave. He orders me… he takes me… he dominates my every waking moment. But he thinks of me as his companion._

That didn’t make any sense to Optimus, and he rejected such a label for himself. ‘Lover’ or ‘companion’ did not describe his reality.

_He considers me ..._ _the same as Starscream ... we exist on the same pedestal in his spark. But he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even really know me. I have been hiding from him all this time. He loves the submissive persona I have been projecting. He perceives me now as the image in his mind, some idealized version of myself, under control and completely harmless._

Optimus worked it through his mind, growing more and more disturbed as the picture before him became crystal clear.

_He loves power and control. He has complete power and control over me, and I am safe to fully enjoy. And the compliance and willing submission I have been providing him has caused this serious infatuation. He loves my frame and my submission and he has fallen hard … and yet I don’t even exist as a mech but for the frame under his servos and the vision he has replaced me with._

Other than the first few days in captivity, he had not fought Megatron at all. His plan to lose Megatron’s interest has backfired in the most spectacular way imaginable. Instead of losing interest in him, Megatron’s entire focus was now completely wrapped around him.

 _I am in deep, deep slag,_ Optimus realized.

It explained so much. It answered his every question and cleared every trace of the deep confusion he had in regards to Megatron’s inexplicable behavior toward him. The pieces of the senseless puzzle all fall into place…The intimate kisses and gentleness and mercy. The insistence that he enjoy every interface and the … hurt … the honest to Primus _hurt_ in his vocalizer when he was blamed for a vile crime against his … lover that he was utterly innocent of.

 _At least he means it when he says he isn’t going to hurt me. His definition of hurt,_ Optimus corrected himself as he frowned internally. That definition is still light years away from his definition of the word. He felt Megatron press his face plates against his neck cables, breathing softly.

 _He also meant it when he said he would not be parted with me,_ Optimus remembered, and his frown deepened. There was no explaining, no convincing Megatron of his side of the situation … of that he was certain. Their realities were too far apart and Megatron enjoyed his position of power in their one-sided relationship far too much to ever allow such a paradigm shift in Optimus Prime’s favor.

 _Work with this…_ that part of him that was the Autobot Leader and Megatron’s arch nemesis whispered. _Ratchet. He needs you. Remember Ratchet._

Shaking his helm to clear his thoughts, Optimus returned his attention to his difficult reality, so very far away from Megatron’s perception of it. He tried to open his eyes and huffed in irritation when the coding stopped him; he'd been ordered to keep them closed. Above him, he could feel Megatron slowly sitting up. He waved a servo to catch the attention of his completely deluded owner. Then he touched his optics and his throat, clearly asking Megatron for permission for the right to use his own body.

Megatron was still seated atop him and through his EM fields Optimus could tell he still felt exultant from the merge, but also resigned. He could hear Megatron rubbing at his chest plates absentmindedly.

“It’s all right, Optimus,” Megatron murmured down to him. “Open your optics and speak as you will. I am listening.” Megatron definitely sounded resigned. And it was the first time he had used Prime’s given name, his real name and not his title. Optimus didn’t like the sound of it. He wasn’t even in this room. His feelings and wishes were second to Megatron's desire.

 _“Damn you_ for that,” Optimus snapped at him. “You had no right. No right.”

It had to be said. He couldn’t not say it, their sparks were precious and Megatron had crossed so many lines with him that it was simply unbelievable. Consent had never been a part of their functioning together, but this was yet another violation in a long, long list of them. The only silver lining was that like every touch he received from Megatron now, at least it had been gentle. But now that it was said, he had to think about Ratchet. He still had someone left to protect, still had someone that needed him.

 _I am expendable,_ he reminded himself. _Ratchet is not. I am his leader, I am responsible for him and every minute spent here is a minute he struggles alone. It is unacceptable._

Optimus in-vented, and he firmly pulled that slave persona back over himself, settling with grim determination into that fake submission that this aggressive mech with his serious control issues ... loved so dearly.

 _Save Ratchet,_ his spark whispered to him.

“I will forgive it,” Optimus said, softly. “But I need something in return. I want your forgiveness as well. For the love of Primus, _please stop feeding me._ You have made your point.” It was the worst of all the touches, making him feel like a pet instead of a person. If he could just get Megatron to stop with that, it would be a major victory for his personal dignity.

The next step was escape.

“You have it,” Megatron spoke as his lip plates lifted in delight, “I forgive it. Let there be peace between us.” Megatron’s plating flared in delight. Joy flooded his fields and his eyes flashed.

 _Back into the fray,_ Optimus whispered to himself.

 

* * *

 

The next morning had been vastly better, almost what passed for normal between them.

They both awoke very early, with Optimus nestled snug across Megatron's front, heavy arms wrapped around him. Pain had intruded on his recharge and his discomfort crept into his fields early in the morning. Megatron awoke moments later, opening sleepy red optics and taking in the barely-smothered expression of pain on his berth mate's face.

Optimus honestly enjoyed the full body massage he was given shortly there after. Face down on the berth, his body aching, he shivered when the warmth of the other frame was removed... only to be replaced by warm, electromagnetically charged servos. Every single piece of his plating was lovingly worked over and wax was rubbed and smoothed in until the deep soreness eased off and he pulled himself from their berth without too much difficulty.

Megatron's servos were enthusiastic for the pleasure of touching the other. There was no doubt in Optimus' mind that Megatron would have been spike deep in his valve that morning, with the way his spark was pulsing desire through his fields.

Unfortunately (Fortunately?) his ports were far too scraped up for attention even with medication, and Megatron didn’t even consider starting anything physical with him. Megatron's fields were fully extended, twinging with satisfaction and happily entwining and flowing over the quiet other. The calm dignity of his slave, while still battered from the attack, was restored and Megatron was beyond pleased with himself.

Then Megatron received a comm from Soundwave. His investigation was complete.

Megatron turned and triumphantly informed him that the primary culprit, Motormaster, had admitted his guilt, and would be dealt with immediately by Megatron personally. Astrotrain had also been present for some of the attack, and was waiting as well.

“They await my judgment in the throne room, even as we speak,” Megatron said, darkly pleased. Soundwave never failed to deliver.

“You and I will go together.” Megatron’s plating flared. He intended to make a spectacle of it and by the time he was done reminding his glitching soldiers not to touch his things, his slave would never again question his own safety under Megatron’s protection.

“I wish to remain here.” Optimus said quietly. His calm expression and firm tone cut through the aggressive, predatory haze that surrounded Megatron.

Megatron just blinked at him.

“You want to stay here?” He repeated, and Megatron couldn’t fathom that. For a Decepticon, revenge was the best possible outcome for such transgressions. “After what they did to you... you want to miss this?”

Optimus looked away.

It was true that he was pleased that his tormentors would be dealt with and there would be no further attacks. It was understandable that Megatron expected him to want to be present. But the last thing he wanted to see was the aggressive Stunticon. All that hate was truly useless. Also, he had no idea what Megatron was planning, but there was no doubt in him that it was going to be indescribably brutal.

The simple truth was that Optimus didn’t enjoy watching others suffer. Not even if they fully deserved it. It was not in his nature and though Megatron hadn’t understood, he finally agreed to allow Optimus to stay in their quarters.

After a firm and loving kiss to Optimus' lip plates, Megatron finally left for the day. “They will be writing you an apology,” he said, leaving the dark words behind as he closed the door after him.

Confused by the statement, Optimus just let it go. Instead, he settled back and sipped his second energon cube, putting the aggressive Decepticons out of his processor forever.

 

* * *

 

Ion Storm was up early that morning.

Early morning patrols were the worst, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. The cold took some time to ease off into something approaching comfort, and cutting through the air in early aerial patrol - as much as he loved to fly - was fragging freezing to his sensitive wing plating. He was scheduled for early morning patrol for the rest of the month, and _Primus_ was he unhappy for it.

The Rainmaker peered out the armada flight hatch, scowling at the weak sun only barely cresting over the horizon. The days were getting shorter and shorter, probably a normal part of the seasons for this planet.

The cold was getting worse incrementally. Someone had mentioned something about axel tilt and planetary positions in relation to their weak sun and he had tuned all of that out. What did sink in was that things might get much worse before what counted for spring and summer would arrive.

 _Ugh,_ he hated being so cold. _What a stupid planet._

Scowling at the slowly brightening horizon, Ion Storm grumbled to himself, and then commed the other members of his patrol for an update. They would need to leave soon.

Static burst through his line, and Acid Storm reported that something was going down in the throne room. Apparently Astrotrain and Motormaster had fragged with Megatron somehow, and they were being dealt with. He was trying to get details, but the boss was…well he was homicidally pissed.

“This is going to be good,” Acid Storm had laughed through the comms, thoroughly distracted.

“Yeah, whatever.” Ion Storm sighed, sorry to miss the show. But ‘homicidal’ and ‘Megatron’ together in the same room was some good motivation to be on time for the miserable early morning patrol and he said as much to his late patrol partner.

“If the boss is already torqued off then you better get your wings out here and get moving before he frags us for being late for our shift.” Ion Storm killed the connection, not wanting any more updates on the show he was going to be missing while freezing his wings off.

“Acid Storm said he is on the way,” Sunstorm called out as he arrived at the flight deck a short time later. His vocalizer sounded way too cheerful, as he didn’t mind the cold. He was also one of those Primus-awful early morning seekers. The yellow flight mech headed towards the hatch with an _outrageously_ cheery cant to his wings.

 _Frag you,_ Ion Storm thought daggers at his happy wing mate. _Frag you and your happy, flappy wings._

“Good,” he muttered as he prepared to take off, and then blinked.

_What the frag?_

There was a Sweep attached … chained … to the outer hull. It was dead, obviously dead from the way its intakes were hanging open, lax and utterly disturbingly.

“Hey, you see that?” Sunstorm called out, having spotted the body as well. His wings were no longer perky-cheerful, but flared wide in alarm.

Both Decepticons readied their weapons systems as grim scowls mirror across their faces. Ion Storm dropped out of the hatch and activated his thrusters while Sunstorm warily covered him from the hatch entrance.

Ion Storm commed Starscream while he suspiciously eyed the dead Sweep. Frag but that was eerie looking. “Air Commander, we have some kind of situation.”

“How the frag do we have a situation?” Starscream’s sharp vocalizer burst through his comms. “It’s too damned early for any sort of fragging situation.”

“Sweep sir,” Ion Storm poked at it with the tip of his pede. Yep, definitely dead. “It’s dead and attached to the hull with chains.”

“Hey, there is another one!” Acid Storm pointed further down the hull.

“-the frag?" Starscream snarled and a burst of static sounded over the emergency base comms as he was about to activate the general alert.

“Lord Megatron, we have a situation-” Ion Storm took it upon himself to contact his leader. The emergency internal comm connection opened and the sounds of frantic begging being interrupted by the deep impact of a furious, metal-denting punch broke through the line.

 _Oh right,_ he remembered, _he is still busy with-_

An instant later a massive series of explosions rocked the ship and blasted multiple holes into the outer sections of the Decepticon base.

 

* * *

 

Optimus was looking over the chess board as it sat on the small table, and his fingertips wandered idly over the game board.

 _Unfortunate that this did not have the effect I had hoped for,_ he thought, as he touched one of the pieces. The board remained in its prominent place on the table. Megatron had been thrilled with the gift, that much was certain.

But from the spark touch he had realized that this seemingly loving display of gratitude, while only given with the intent to spare him from some of the constant physical contact, had had an unintended side effect. It had pushed Megatron right over the edge and further into his own delusions in regards to his slave, and what they were to each other.

Optimus was deep, deep down the rabbit hole, as the humans would say.

 _He is completely detached from my reality,_ Optimus thought. They shared the same space but they were in two completely different planes of existence. _I cannot live this way,_ he thought to himself, firmly. _I am not a toy, I am not…a slave. Freedom is my right as a sentient being and this is not a life worth living, no matter how comfortable he makes it. No matter how much he believes he… loves me._

 _My only hope for escape now is with Starscream,_ he pondered. Never in his long life would he have ever thought his very freedom of being would hinge on the kindness of Megatron’s second in command.

Starscream’s control over him remained, and with it his ability to escape endured, though it felt very tenuous. He wanted to just run for it, but he forced himself to be patient. He couldn’t let impatience ruin this one last chance for escape. There will be another attack soon, he assured himself, there always was. It would be his best chance to make it safely away.

 _It will be my last chance,_ he knew. Megatron would most certainly tether him if he was caught fleeing a second time, especially after the spark touch.

Suddenly the crackle of the internal emergency comms broke his musings, drowned out by the sudden multiple booming sounds that reverberated through the decrepit metal ship around him.

Optimus sat up straight and listened carefully, but the comms had fallen silent. He turned his head and cocked his helm as he thought he recognized Thundercracker’s sonic boom, but multiple times at once?

He didn’t know that was something Thundercracker could do. He listened for a bit, and then returned to look at the board, feeling uneasy, deciding to assume the Decepticons were engaging in some flight maneuvers outside. But moments later there was another boom, and the plating on the back of his neck rose in alarm.

Megatron’s quarters were in the deepest part of the half-buried wreck of a ship, and only the most insistent sound vibrations penetrated this low.

 _Something is wrong,_ he decided.

Optimus left their quarters and started down the hallway. His suspicions were confirmed correct when in the distance he could hear the sounds of battle. He turned a corner and found Acid Storm locked in furious struggle with two Sweeps. He ripped one off the struggling seeker and smashed it into the wall, burying his fists, one after the other into the vicious Unicronian drone.

It hissed and slashed back at him, but he gave it no chance to recover, lashing out at it relentlessly with his fists. The last surviving Rainmaker, no slouch himself, finished off his own opponent and then hesitated.

“Prime?” Acid Storm crouched down, prepared to help Optimus finish off his Sweep if he needed it.

“I have this one, go!” Optimus said, and Acid Storm took off down the hallway towards the sounds of heavy fighting.

Optimus dispatched his opponent and then followed after Acid Storm down the corridor. He was slow and careful due to his aching protoform, but even so his optics brightened at the thought of battle.

The Prime moved like a slow juggernaut through the base, heading towards the main entrance. He was quick to relieve any overwhelmed Decepticon defenders he encountered on the way. One of them - a ground mech he didn’t know by name - subspaced a strong-looking metal axe and wordlessly handed it over in a startling gesture of trust.

Optimus took the weapon, hesitated in surprise and then nodded his thanks. Then he headed down the hall to the main entrance and readied himself.

 _This is it,_ Optimus realized, his plating flaring with building excitement. _This is my chance._

 

* * *

 

Megatron fought the clusters of Sweeps trying to overwhelm him, with Brawl and Swindle only barely holding their ground nearby.

“They were hiding in the southern trench,” Brawl roared over at him while struggling with his own unfair share of enemies. “They must have flown in before last evening and weathered overnight to be as close to the base as possible!” He smashed his left fist into the face plates of a Sweep as he spoke, and then braced for more.

Megatron snapped the neck plates of the Sweep currently engaging him, punched the next in line, and then put the rest of the situation together in his own mind. He was startled at the use of such clever tactics by his Unicronian counterpart.

Galvatron had picked out the most damaged of his forces and altered them as living bombs, using the stolen energon from the Decepticons as the catalyst. He'd sent them tottering out to attach themselves to the hull during the night, as the stronger of his forces huddled together to survive the night to battle at dawn. The previously wounded, sacrificial Sweeps only barely made it the ship to chain themselves to the hull as the cold froze them into deactivation.

As soon as it was warm enough, Galvatron had triggered his unconventional ordinance and in the resulting pandemonium the Unicronians had attacked. The Decepticon were not ready for battle this morning and they were losing ground in the bedlam.

Megatron was forced to call a retreat back into their base as his soldiers were being overwhelmed all around him. The base was far less of a bulwark now with so many holes blasted into it.

Motormaster was at Megatron’s back, already leaking from the interrupted punishment that had only just started for him in the throne room. He stuck close to Megatron, fighting furiously, his malicious eyes wild.

The Slagmaker saw Cyclonus hovering nearby, obviously directing the Sweeps from above. It was making a clear difference as they were far more troublesome than usual. Megatron took aim with his fusion cannon and used one of his few precious shots to take him out.

Cyclonus saw the threat and banked, but still took the shot on one of his wings. He tumbled from the sky and landed hard, but was right back up on his pedes. He charged towards and clashed with Onslaught.

There was no sign of Galvatron, yet. His absence was ominous.

Charging in headlong, Headstrong cleared the way for the retreat. All but unstoppable in his rhino mode, he violently broke through the line of Sweeps clustered around the entrance to the base. The Decepticons retreated as ordered, following in the vicious Predacon’s wake, back inside the base to regroup.

Starscream commed Megatron from the air above the base, reporting Sweep positions while darting gracefully through the air.

Strangely, the Air Commander is being completely ignored by the enemies darting through the skies and clustered over the ground beneath him. No one engages, and no one so much as fires a weapon in his direction.

Starscream was confused, but he used the situation to his full advantage. He shot down a Sweep foolish enough to fly past him, using the last of his energy shots, and then pulled out his wing blade after he transformed and landed along with Thundercracker. Skywarp stayed in the air to provide cover and aimed a careful energy shot at Cyclonus, while Starscream and Thundercracker charged towards the sub-commander, hoping to overwhelm him.

 _Killing Cyclonus,_ Starscream calculated as he brandished his wing blade, _will go a long way to ensuring our lasting victory._

Onslaught broke away from his stalemated grapple as Cyclonus dived to the side to avoid Skywarp’s shots. Onslaught gathered himself and then charged back towards Cyclonus with Starscream and Thundercracker at his back. He too was aware that if they could take Cyclonus down, they would be far closer to a permanent victory.

Inside the base, Megatron wasn’t surprised to see Prime near the entrance, holding the line just inside the entry way. He was holding a metal axe he had gotten somewhere, and was a powerful opponent for any intruder. Moving slowly, Prime stayed in the safer places behind friendly lines, but even as sore as he was Prime was no pushover. Already there was a small pile of Sweeps at his pedes.

Megatron spared an instant to feel pleased with himself as his precious consort continuously proved himself most useful. Then Megatron reorganized his soldiers with a roar and the Decepticon Elite charged back out into the fray.

***

 

Optimus cautiously followed out after the charging Decepticons, out into the open air. He was surprised Megatron hadn’t ordered him back to his quarters. Megatron was far more protective of him since his first escape.

All around them were furious, thrashing Sweeps. Galvatron had clearly called in his full forces for this attack. There were multiple openings in the Decepticon base now, and Sweeps were darting in and out, trying to ambush lone fighters to overwhelm them.

The Decepticons countered by fighting back to back, and he could see Megatron in the distance, beset from all sides. Prime couldn't make him out, but Motormaster was at his leader’s back, furiously defending him with a maniac aura.

Then Optimus saw something that made him pause.

Starscream was darting and twisting about, lashing out with his wing blade as the Sweeps seemed frantic to avoid him. The Air Commander had lost his opportunity with Cyclonus to a swarm of defending Sweeps, and now Starscream was flitting about, stabbing and slashing with his wing blade as none of the Sweeps would engage with him. He was getting cocky as he severely damaged one Sweep after another, grinning in delight as the enemy merely fled before him.

Delighted and _distracted._ Starscream was enjoying the battle immensely and had momentarily forgotten that a distracted mech is a mech easier to defeat.

 _Megatron mentioned Galvatron has been targeting Starscream lately._ _This might be intentional._ “Starscream!” Optimus called out to him. Something about the situation seemed off.

The hammer dropped when Starscream darted with uncharacteristic boldness into the midst of a large swarm of Sweeps. Normally he would never have tried such a fool-hardy move, but he was clearly expecting them to scatter before him.

It would have been a very useful maneuver for the Decepticons if Starscream had managed to break their lines, but instead of fleeing, they turn on him. Throwing themselves at him, they were heedless of his startled yelp and the furious slashing of his razor-sharp blade. He was further tackled by several Sweeps landing on him from mid-air and they latched hold of him and started dragging him away.

Optimus heard him cry out as he was overwhelmed.

He couldn't make out the command, but Optimus doesn’t have to. The Autobot in him surges at the sight of Starscream being pulled away, presumably to his death. He assumed the cry for help was meant for him and charged after the besieged Decepticon. He caught up and threw his axe at the cluster of Sweeps just as they reorganized themselves and started to take to the air with their struggling captive in tow.

“Get these fraggers off me!” Starscream screeched, kicking and thrashing at their controlling servos. They were too close around him. Although he refused to relinquish his death grip on the handle of his wing blade, he couldn't move it for their controlling, grasping servos.

Then Optimus’ axe cut through the air and knocked one out of the sky.

Optimus climbed up the wreckage from one of the blast holes and threw himself after as they took off, landing on the mass of Sweeps and one struggling Starscream. He was nearly knocked off as they left the ground and blasted away, but he clung furiously to one and swung around and battered its neighbor with his pedes, and that freed Starscream’s blade arm.

Optimus found himself dangling from a Sweep by its thrashing pede as the drones gunned their engines and fled the battle. They worked together to move the entire thrashing mass as far from the Decepticon base and reinforcements as possible.

It was clear they'd been given orders to accomplish this at the expense of their own lives, because as they struggled to control Starscream, they made no attempt to spare their own frames. He slashed and cut them, battering them furiously, but they only flew faster as he cut them down one by one.

 _I am too high up,_ Optimus realized as he climbed the body of the last Sweep and latched on to Starscream’s turbine heel, wincing for the burning heat roaring out the furiously busy turbine.

“Hold on Prime!” Starscream called down to him as he slashed the last Sweep and it fell into a limp freefall. Starscream was just starting his descent when Optimus caught sight of the last mech he ever wanted to see, not counting his current owner.

“Starscream,” Optimus roared, “Bank left!”

To his credit, Starscream didn’t waste any time and did exactly as instructed, and it was a fortunate thing. A purple and silver blur roared past him with only a hands-breadth of space between them.

The hit would have been disastrous.

Then Galvatron banked as well, coming around for another pass and gunning his engine. “Ah, the two mechs I have been looking for,” he shouted, “Out in the open and without reinforcements. How fortuitous!”

 _This is your doing,_ Optimus thought. There was no coincidence here. He didn’t respond and threw his axe instead, scoring a direct hit, but Galvatron shrugged off the blow.

“You are too heavy,” Starscream hissed down at Optimus. He was starting to panic as he was unable to properly maneuver for the weight on his turbine. Galvatron’s next pass managed to partially connect. Starscream was thrown for a spin, off-balanced by the glancing blow.

Galvatron lunged, gunning his thrusters and grabbed at Starscream in midair. He missed, harsh servos scratching across sleek white plating as the graceful Starscream twisted away from his grasp. The force of the blow, however, dislodged Optimus’ already tenuous grip on his turbine and he fell.

 _I won’t survive this fall,_ and Optimus was startled to realize he was already at peace with that.

Red and white wings, glowing ethereally against the backdrop of sunlight, filled Optimus’ vision for a moment as Starscream instinctively darted down and grabbed him. Starscream gunned his engines furiously, turning back towards the safety of the base.

They flew together for many long, frantic moments, the distant ground whipping by as Starscream taxed his engine to its limits. But it wasn't enough, not with Starscream struggling under the weight of the much heavier Autobot. Within moments Starscream was forced to swerve as Galvatron overtook him and tried to knock him out of the sky.

Two realizations surged through Starscream as he twisted around to face Galvatron, currently hurtling towards him. _I can’t fight Galvatron burdened down like this._

Starscream panicked for a moment....and then the second realization hit. They were hovering over the deepest part of the nearby trench, serenely snaking and winding below them as it meandered on its way…leading away from the Decepticon base.

Starscream grinned as it all came together for him, laid out in delightful mental symmetry by his quick processor. In a flash, Starscream came to a decision and laughed at the perfect opportunity that had presented itself. Then he callously reached out and - still laughing - threw the horrified and frantic Optimus Prime over the deepest part of the trench. He carefully aimed the toss towards one of the sides so that the Prime could, hopefully, control his descent.

“Go find your friend Prime! That’s an order!” Starscream shrieked after Prime as he fell, blue optics wide with disbelief.

 _Good luck,_ Starscream mouthed at the flabbergasted Prime. The capricious seeker felt strangely content in his spark as he saw Prime twist around and grab at the walls of the crevasse, rocks and grit parting under frantically grasping servos, already slowing his fall.

Prime was going to be fine.

“Starscream! Be careful!” Optimus shouted after him as he fell, tumbling down the deep crevasse.

 

***

Galvatron clenched his fists as he now had a choice to make. He could only chase after one mech; the other was sure to escape. But as much as he would love to reclaim and punish his escaped slave, the answer to his little quandary was very clear.

Galvatron’s powers were granted to him by Unicron the Destroyer, a gift sanctified and combined with his dark energon, his very life’s blood. Now with the Destroyer’s defeat and destruction, Galvatron’s abilities are slowly waning. And when the last of the Destroyer’s taint fades, so too will his ability to raise the dead.

Optimus Prime was a desired distraction, true, but the future was far more important.

Galvatron's optics flashed as he turned his gaze away from the tumbling Prime. He turned and charged instead after Starscream. The future now belonged to the faction that could replenish itself…and the gift of life now resided solely on the span of red and white wings.

***

 

“Winglord of Vos,” Galvatron roared out as he charged, “Come and face me in battle!”

Starscream just laughed and made a rude gesture in reply. Turning, he fired his thrusters, artfully flipping his body over the charging Galvatron. But Galvatron was quick to recover, and Starscream was reminded once again that he was outmatched by the sheer force of the bastard that roared past him.

 _Can’t let him get ahold of me,_ Starscream reminded himself. He had no intention of suffering through another attack by this hulking brute of a mech.

Starscream took a moment to snap his wing blade back into place with a quick movement, and broke clear of Galvatron. Firing his thrusters in full throttle, he ignored the demanding roar to stop and face Galvatron in battle. He disregarded the sentiment for the egotistical nonsense that it was.

 _Fair fights are for idiots and Autobots,_ Starscream thought as he tore away at top speed. He may have been outmatched, but the sky belonged to him. Never would Starscream be out-flown by _this_ particular mech. _Skywarp maybe,_ Starscream thought to himself ruefully, _but that fragger cheats by warping._

Starscream darted away from Galvatron while simultaneously reporting his new position to his trine and pit spawn of a leader. “Lord Megatron! I am inbound to base with Galvatron in pursuit! You can thank me for distracting him later! I need some help here!”

No point in mentioning he was out here as a direct result of his own stupidity by falling for Galvatron’s little ploy to take him off guard. Definitely going to leave that part out. _Thankfully the only mech that saw that is no longer my problem,_ Starscream grinned to himself, satisfied. Then he scowled as he saw his comm message queue instead of connecting.

_Did they really pull me that far out?_

He'd been too busy fighting to pay attention to how far the Sweeps had flown with him. Now Megatron wouldn’t be getting his message until he was back in range, and glorious leader was otherwise nowhere to be seen. _Probably still at the base drowning in Sweeps again, as if that counts as an excuse._ Starscream scoffed as he gunned his engine and poured on the speed to outfly his oh-so-earnest pursuer. He could see Galvatron yelling something into his own internal comms, but couldn't make out the words.

“Sitting around on your sorry skidplate no doubt,” Starscream yelled into his comms, for the hell of it. “While I deal with Galvatron, alone, again!” The message queued again. Frag it all. _At least I can fly circles around this fool._

His only warning that Galvatron had not yet fully played his hand came from the tiny shadow that fell across him from above. The force of Cyclonus’ impact slammed into him at a stupid rate of speed.

They twisted and turned in midair, and then Galvatron smashed into them both, adding his considerable weight to the thrashing mass of mechanicals. Starscream managed to land a firm punch to his helm, but Galvatron immediately returned the favor.

 _Not this slag again!_ Starscream flinched for the blow, but fortunately he wasn’t knocked offline. The hit was very…subdued.

The hits had all been very controlled, Starscream's quick processor noted as he tumbled in free fall, still trying to punch his way clear of the two furiously determined Unicronians struggling to get his limbs under control.

 _Not much in the way of stupid threats either…_ another rapid fire thought.

Then Galvatron fired his thrusters before he hit the ground and the three mechs landed in a tangled mess of limbs. Starscream smashed an elbow into Galvatron's face as the other refused to release him, taking every hit and blow landed without comment or complaint as he wrested Starscream’s arms under control.

Starscream was still fighting hard when Cyclonus ordered his Sweeps to disengage the Decepticon forces and retreat. “Our objective has been achieved,” Cyclonus crowed into his own internal system for his troops. “You have all performed well!”

Galvatron grinned down at Starscream as he struggled. Then he wrapped himself around Starscream’s body, twisting his arms back to keep the dangerous Decepticon Air Commander under control.

A loop of chain was pulled from Cyclonus' subspace and put to good use. Starscream did manage to get a good kick in during the proceedings, lightly denting Galvatron’s cheek plating with a lashing pede as Cyclonus took the brunt of the blow and staggered back.

Starscream snarled at them and thrashed in his bindings, but the chains were unyielding.

Galvatron fell back, startled by the petty blow. Then he straightened and considered the smaller, lovely mech now bound at his pedes. “Why does he allow you out of his base,” he muttered down at the furiously scowling Starscream. “You are the only one capable of carrying on this world. Whatever your skills, he is a fool to allow you to approach and scrap with enemies.”

Starscream whipped his helm back at that, shocked. He'd assumed the intense interest was a desire for revenge, as had the rest of his faction. _How in the name of…?_

 _Headstrong,_ Starscream realized, putting the pieces together in a growing fury. _I am going to kill him._

Galvatron actually had the grace to look embarrassed as the words left his vocalizer. “An unfortunate truth for one as skilled as you, I understand.” Starscream stared at him and squirmed. “He doesn’t know,” Starscream finally admitted. Now Starscream was holding out hope he could somehow kill Galvatron himself to keep his secret and he squirmed in his chains again. “I haven’t told him. He thinks I am sterile.”

“I see. You are concealing this to avoid losing your rank and privileges as a warrior. It is understandable. Unfortunately it is also unavoidable.”

Starscream blinked at him, “Since when did _you_ grow a processor?" He was unsettled by the intellect now burning behind the optics of what had previously been a hulking, snarling, threatening brute and snarked, "Not to mention you haven’t spoken in the third person even once this entire-”

Galvatron stomped down and broke Starscream's leg right above his turbine heel. It was a clean break, but intensely painful.

Starscream shrieked, and then managed to regain control of himself. “Frag you!”

“Indeed! That is the plan. Eventually.” Galvatron looked gratified at the show of control. He valued strength, both of the body and mind. Then he reached for a wing, intending the same treatment.

“That is not necessary!” Starscream shrieked at him. “I am already chained!”

Galvatron hesitated for a moment, and then pulled his thick servos back. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “I intend to limit your movement, but will then remove the chains.”

“I will take the chains then,” Starscream snarled. “I can’t fly now anyway, you broke my _turbine_ you... you miserable fragging glitch!”

It was a lie, actually. The turbine itself was perfectly fine, and Starscream could absolutely fly. He simply wouldn’t be able to walk. But he would say anything right now to spare his wings, if the Unicronian was fool enough to believe him.

“Very well,” Galvatron allowed, “For now.” The wings _were_ very beautiful. It would be a shame to damage them.

Starscream relaxed and laughed through his pain. “I don’t know why you bother. We aren’t even the same fragging species anymore! Whatever you are packing,” Starscream kicked out at Galvatron disparagingly with the undamaged heel, “life isn’t happening from it.”

“That is currently correct, but not for much longer,” Galvatron said, as he looked down at himself for a moment, frowning. It had been one hell of a miserable process, coming down from the dark energon that had once coursed through his very spark. Shaking his helm, his optics returned to the mech at his pedes, looking over the sleek plating to rest on the abdominals.

“You hold the future of our race,” Galvatron said with a firm smile. “And now that future belongs to me.” He reached down and scooped up the profoundly irritated Starscream, who could only hiss at the bastard holding him so tightly to his chest.

“I will allow you to keep the one you already have,” Galvatron announced. “Lord Megatron is a worthy adversary, and his progeny may share that trait. And I will keep your secret as well. Megatron will be far less likely to expend energy searching for you if he doesn’t understand your true value.”

Starscream snorted. That may be true, but only if he couldn't find Prime. Then Megatron would be moving mountains to find him. _My pit-spawned glitch of a leader isn’t going to put up with an empty berth for very long, and I am the best there is on this sorry excuse of a planet,_   Starscream thought with grim satisfaction and no small amount of self-confidence.

Apparently Galvatron felt the same, and Starscream scowled as they left the ground and his captor dragged him away.

***

 

“Starscream!” Optimus shouted while falling from the sky. He grabbed at protrusions and outcroppings here and there to slow his descent, to keep from hurting himself.

As he fell and tumbled down the side of the deep trench, he saw flashes of purple and red and white above him as the two mortal enemies continued their battle above him. He rolled one last time and hit the rocky bottom in an undignified tangle of legs and arms.

Gasping, he gathered himself, taking stock of his frame. Fortunately other than some bad scrapes and scuffles he was functional. He stumbled to his pedes and took a second to look up. It had taken him a bit of time to reach the bottom, and the light was very dim down here, as normal.

Optimus remembered the last coordinates Ratchet had carved into the rock. He had cracked the simple encryption already during one of the long afternoons while waiting for Megatron to return.

Then Optimus hesitated one last time, but the coding tinged in his mind. He'd been ordered to find his friend, and he had only one friend left alive on this planet. Starscream had helped him, but there was no way Optimus could fool the coding that Starscream was the friend he was speaking of. To his shame, he wasn’t sure he could even make the mental effort, even knowing Starscream was in trouble. Too much had happened to him because of Starscream forcing his return to Megatron.

Optimus transformed and fled toward the coordinates. _I will find Ratchet a_ _nd together we will flee this place. We will drive as far as our tires can take us, away to the very ends of this world._

Optimus gunned his engine and tore down the chasm floor. He had the thermal blanket and several cubes of energon. He could fuel himself and no longer had to report his levels to Megatron. He had no standing orders currently that would stop him from reaching his goals. He only had a few days before the fever would hit again, but he should have more than enough time to reach Ratchet. The joy he had felt during his previous escape did not roar through him now. He was far too cautious, far too nervous. Who knew how many times Ratchet had been forced to relocate.

_Whatever happens to me… happens. I am finished. I will never return to the Decepticons._

Optimus heard another distant explosion, likely from the Decepticon base, still under siege from the Unicronians. But he put that out of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel worried about Starscream, but even that was out of his servos now. Even if he could fight the coding and turn around, he couldn’t fly.

There was nothing he can do.

The crevasse floor wound and turned, and finally took him away from the direction of the Decepticon base, and he left it and Megatron behind him for the last time.

 

***

 

“Lord Galvatron,” Cyclonus bowed before his leader, who was seated regally before him. “I report to you as ordered.”

Starscream, just recently arrived to the Unicronian cave, perked up from where he had been seated, carefully chained down. Evening was falling, and Cyclonus had left to sort and deal with the returning Sweeps. Starscream had been satisfied to see that many, many of them were seriously damaged. Attacking the Decepticons had been no easy fight, even completely taken by surprise.

Now Cyclonus returned to what passed as a throne room to report the current status of Galvatron's army. “We lost a large contingent of Sweeps in this engagement. Megatron also took heavy losses. I estimate half his standing forces are damaged or destroyed."

Starscream didn’t move, chained as he was at Galvatron’s feet, at the foot of a crude throne made of stacked rocks. But he did pay close attention. He couldn’t believe these idiots were going to have a tactical discussion right in front of him.

 _Unicronians are damned fools,_ he thought.

“So unfortunate I am no longer able to convert or revive my troops,” Galvatron murmured. “Without Unicron’s power flowing through me, survival becomes much more difficult. My victory has always been assured, but without my greatest advantage the scenario… changes.”

“Lord Galvatron, this planet is…immense and empty. One patch of ground is as good as any other…”

“Abandon the war? Of course not,” Galvatron sounded offended for the mere suggestion. “What possesses you?”

Cyclonus, nervous for the dangerous edge in his leader’s voice, dropped to one knee before Lord Galvatron, to present himself as a supplicant and to fully display his loyalty. And then he continued to push.

“They still have a medic, my lord,” Cyclonus said carefully. He would never have pushed this far with Galvatron only a week ago, but since the influence of dark energon had nearly fully waned, his leader had become more and more approachable and even sensible.

“The Decepticons took heavy damage and many were injured, but they are capable of repairing their wounded. A full two-thirds of the Sweeps are damaged, and will be less effective in battle.”

Galvatron scowled at this. “Their base is severely damaged,” he snapped. “Our incursion was a great blow to our enemies.”

Cyclonus kept his vocalizer even, but he pushed on. “A scout reports the Decepticons have been working all throughout the evening repairing their base. Most of the blast holes have been filled in with rock.”

“My enemy remains resilient,” Galvatron said with a wistful frown and then he laughed. “All the more reason to pit myself against him. A worthy opponent is as a fine wine to be savored! This is as a battle so much like the old days, eh Cyclonus?”

Cyclonus inclined his helm in acknowledgment but he didn’t smile. _This is nothing like the golden days of Cybertron_. This was the end of the world, the last battle, and after this there would be nothing left but dust and ruin. Cyclonus was _not_ enthused.

“Have you considered how our situation has changed?” Cyclonus tried again, gesturing at Starscream, who scowled back at him from his position chained to the floor. “Your new consort carries.”

Starscream scowled further at his new designation. _Consort? My fragging aft. As if I would be willing to skulk around in a cave for the rest of my life at your pedes._

Even the rusty spaceship (complete with thin walls and collapsing floors) was light years more civilized then a dusty cave. But Starscream didn’t speak or interrupt them. He wanted to glean as much information as possible from these enemies, as duty came first. Anything he could bring back to Megatron was valuable in this ultimately pointless little faction war.

Fortunately, neither of them paid any attention to Starscream chained near Galvatron’s throne, but the conversation did revolve around him as Cyclonus tried hard to steer his powerful leader down a different path.

“Perhaps our focus should be reconsidered, Lord Galvatron, as the future now belongs to us.”

That did sink in, and Galvatron considered the future while running his fingers down Starscream’s back strut. Startled for the touch, Starscream frowned, but then threw his helm back and leaned into it, pushing back with a sudden, playful smile. Then he threw out a leg and swiveled a hip suggestively.

Galvatron’s lip plates curved up into a smile. _So beautiful._

Starscream was already smiling. _Wait for it._

Cyclonus, who could see the truth of Starscream’s expression, was not smiling. _This bodes ill._

“Lord Galvatron, may I suggest caution-"

“You are dismissed, Cyclonus. We will discuss this…later. My new consort desires my attention.”

“Yes Cyclonus,” Starscream crooned at him, “Stop being a third wheel and leave me to my new leader. I want to see if he is as… _resilient_ …as my old one.”

Starscream’s lovely smile remained.

Cyclonus stared at Starscream, who rattled his chains as he made shooing motions, and then he reluctantly walked away. His helm tracked his leader as he left. Galvatron was leaning down, his servos leaving his captive’s back plates and curling underneath to the interface ports.

 _This is a dreadful mistake,_ Cyclonus thought as he walked away. _It is far too early to expect compliance._

It was very unfortunate that they no longer had the slave coding. This would have been the perfect opportunity to use it. But this very same seeker had destroyed it, according to his leader. The chains were a dreadfully poor substitute for complete forced obedience.

Cyclonus left the side cave, but remained close by, listening. After a short time his diligence was rewarded by the sound of his leader’s furiously pained roar.

 

 


	21. All Things End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prime finally frees himself from the coding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, death. Non-con sticky sex, verbal abuse, abuse of a carrying mech.

Starscream awoke to darkness and a full and perfect silence. 

 

... _am I dead?_

As he asked himself that question, Starscream could feel his lip plating move, but his audials didn’t register the sound. He tried to open his optics, but there was no sight, no sound, _nothing_. Not even inside his own helm. For a few long moments he gave in to sheer terror. Yet in the frantic thrashing panic attack that followed, one thing instantly cut through his fear; the sharp pain of his broken pede when he dashed it against the ground.

The second thing that finally ended his panic attack was the feel of the gritty dirt beneath his body and servos. _I am still alive,_ _I am lying on their stupid cave floor and I am still alive._

A brief moment to collect his wits, and he felt out with careful fingers. He carefully confirmed that both the darkness and silence were complete. He had no visual feed what-so-ever, and couldn’t see his internal HUD. He couldn’t even hear the beating of his spark or the rushing of fuel moving in his lines. And yet he could still _feel_ all of those things. He could feel that he was on his back and his wings were aching from the cold surface he was laying on. His clever mind puts it together and the alarming truth pressed down on him.

 _They must have hard-lined into my medical port and shut down my audials and optic sensors,_ which meant he was completely deaf and blind and utterly helpless.

 _No I am not,_ and Starscream corrected himself ferociously. _I am many things, but never helpless._ Panic was worse then useless here, and he focused on his ventilations until his spark calmed. Then he set about figuring out where he was and what was happening to him. The bottom line was that he was definitely still alive and that was always reassuring.

The second thing that soothed him was the strong feel of the fluttering in his abdominals. Without data feeds from his optics or audials, that soft little sensation was his primary input, along with the information from his outer plating.

Starscream’s cheerful little sparkling was still very much alive and seemed unbothered by all the … bother … its carrier was currently in. The tiny unborn was busy bouncing around and fluttering about without a care in the world.

 _Well,_ thought Starscream with some amusement, _at least somebody is happy._

He certainly wasn’t. But he took a moment to lay his servos over his abdominals and the calm spread over him in a wave. It was strange, the strength that could be found in this connection he had with the life he was carrying.

Then Starscream returned his attention to his surroundings, feeling around with his servos and fanning his still very sensitive wings. He could tell he was still chained, most likely on Galvatron's throne room floor. But the chains around him had been reconfigured. They were more like a tether, circling around his waist and wings and attaching on a long lead to the floor.

 _This is more long term,_ and the realization left Starscream scowling. _Less of a punishment and more what my life will be like as Galvatron’s slagging ‘consort.’_

It made sense to him.

Cyclonus had tried to warn Galvatron to be wary of his captive on the flight to their cave, as apparently Galvatron was accustomed to using and then eventually discarding code mechs for physical needs. Galvatron was callous to an extreme, and as a result of his judicious use of the slave coding, he was completely unaccustomed to physical interactions with mechs that could and would try to defend themselves. This was as close to that helpless state as Galvatron could force onto Starscream without causing a miscarry for damage.

Starscream had watched Cyclonus carefully during the flight towards their cave and his captivity; watched how he sometimes cringed at his leader's sharper movements, how he never, never refused any order or questioned any command and had come to a dark conclusion in regards to the sub-commander and his relationship with Galvatron.

Starscream felt a moment of worry for himself and his unborn, and then forced it away. He was strong; he would survive and eventually escape.

Galvatron had been furious when Starscream had hurt him, but the punishment inflicted for his insolence had been nothing, absolutely nothing in comparison to what he routinely received from Megatron (fully deserved in the aftermath of failed hostile takeovers). They knew his value as a carrying mech and he wasn’t in danger of losing his life or even of being seriously damaged at this point.

Starscream, being the vicious pit-spawned glitch that he is, had literally laughed and snarled his way through his lack-luster punishment (“Is that what you call this? I’ve had worse from Lord Megatron during our _polite_ tactical disagreements! Mech up and put some effort into it!”) …until Galvatron’s furious fist exploding in his face plates had finally knocked him and his malicious vocalizer off-line, to awaken now in complete and utter darkness.

 _I should probably stop antagonizing the glitch,_ and for Starscream it was such a regretful thought, but the realization he had already seen the worst of his captors was actually encouraging. _Likely why they resorted to this, as r_ _emoving my senses is the worst they can do to me, without damaging me. I am too valuable and my purpose requires I be functional and relatively undamaged. Too much stress and I purge, too much purging and I lose…_

The fluttering remained unconcerned, but the rush of his own alarm startled him.

_…you._

_Don’t get attached,_ and Starscream hissed at himself, upset for the depth of the feeling that was now pulsing through him, from his very spark. Attachment is weakness. Sentimentality is death.

The fluttering continued energetically. _Too late! You will love me and like it!_

Starscream pushed that uncomfortable fear of loss away and returned to pondering his own situation. Mulling it over, still lost in the darkness of sensory deprivation, he came to a conclusion. _This is not so terrible._ _I can work with this._

Encouraged, Starscream relaxed and focused his attention on his frame. He reached out and wriggled his servos. The feeling of the movement without sight was more acute, his sensory perception more focused when the sense of touch was the only one he had. He flicked his wings, and the sensations from them were very sensitive as well. He could feel the air currents moving around them, tiny breezes of air across his sensors.

Even more encouraging was the fact he still had his wing blade ... _I wonder why they left it?_    Such carelessness was a serious blunder, and he knew his blade was going to come in handy soon. _Galvatron must not have seen me reattach it. It’s not obviously a blade when it is part of my flight array._

It was the only explanation, as Galvatron wouldn't have gone to the trouble of removing his vision and hearing but then leave him his blade. Both wings were firmly attached to his body, and his primary left wing panel could detach and further extend and serve him as his razor-sharp bladed weapon. He could fly without it, but not at great speed. The weapon would be more than enough to deal with his chains. He needed only an opportune moment to use it. It was an advantage, and the blade added to his returning confidence in himself.

Starscream decided to redouble his efforts to harm them in any way he could. _Even shut down like this, I will teach them to fear me._ That decided, he sucked in a ventilation and let it out with a huff. He hated being on his back on the cold ground, and so he spent some time struggling to get to his knees. It was made difficult for how off-balanced he was for his lack of senses, but he persisted, as he wanted his beautiful wings off the floor.

The very cold floor.

From the sticky state of his lower frame, it was clear Galvatron had continued his … vile attentions after Starscream had been knocked offline. At least Galvatron hadn’t tried to use his intakes after discovering just how much his bite could hurt. It seemed that Galvatron had taken Starscream's attack on his spike very personally.

 _You were the stupid glitch that thought he could just stick his spike in my intakes without the slightest problem, you deranged glitch!_ Starscream mentally yelled at the hulk somewhere in the cave. He couldn’t help but grin as he savored the memory-files of his captor’s shocked roar of pain. _Of course I am going to bite the slag out of you. You chained me to the floor!_

 _No doubt they off-lined my sensors right after that in retaliation for my attack. If they think this was going to frighten me, they are sorely mistaken,_ he smirked to himself. He had already intentionally forgotten his little panic attack.

As far as he could tell from the feel of his frame, other than the broken pede, the little cuts here and there, his messy array, and along with the superficial damage Galvatron had inflicted in his wild rage, he was fine. Starscream resolved to kick Galvatron in his interface array at the earliest opportunity. He shifted as he carefully adjusted his broken pede, the dull ache in his ports accentuated by a slosh of fluid.

 _Bah,_ Starscream thought. _You hulking rust bucket._

Unlike the Autobots, his faction held a more practical view of their interface ports; a more detached view of interfacing and its uses and applications. Galvatron had obviously had at him after he was knocked offline, but it didn't matter nearly as much as any damage inflicted. And fortunately from the feel of things, Galvatron hadn’t damaged him like the last time. He hesitated. He was unsure if others were watching, then mentally shrugged. He carefully reached out into the darkness and felt around.

After a few moments of exploration his servos brushed the bottom stones of Galvatron's crude throne. Orienting himself in his mind from what he remembered of the cavernous room, he dragged himself to the farthest end of his tether and opened his primary array cover. With a frown, he cycled open his valve panel, and felt a wash of fluid drain out.

That did bother him; being filthy and unable to clean himself. There were no facilities here what-so-ever. He wasn’t even sure if these mechs even believed in bathing. He'd always been fastidious with his body, treating it like the shrine to Vos it was, and he would do anything to have a moment or five alone in a shower.

Well, almost anything.

 

* * *

 

Optimus had driven as far as he could that first evening and so far the journey had been uneventful. It was likely that the Decepticons and the Unicronians were still recovering from the furious battle and he wasn't surprised there was no trace of them.

The monotony of the landscape around him would normally have encouraged his mind to wander, but he pushed all thoughts and worries away, forcing himself to stay focused on the winding grit under his tires and the sky with its green cast and ever present risk of Sweep patrols. Nothing would keep him from finding Ratchet this time.

Optimus drove until practical concerns for the night forced him to stop for the evening. It took him longer than he expected to find an acceptable shelter, and he finally resorted to making himself one by digging out a large enough hollow under a sizable cluster of flat rocks.

It was a crude lean-to of sorts, but functional.

His improvised shelter was enough to keep the chill wind off him, and he wrapped the thermal blanket around himself and tried to rest. But staying warm enough to recharge never happened. The night was far worse than he remembered from his last escape.

The cold was wildly bitter, and the sting across his freezing plating denied any opportunity to drift off into sleep. He grew more and more alarmed as the temperature dipped well past lethal levels, and the thermal blanket only barely kept deactivation at bay. The wind whipped and lashed over the shelter outside, howling down and along the deep trench, though his little covered hollow held up well under the assault. It was concerning though, how much worse the weather was getting. He realized that a far deeper cave would be needed for long term survival for himself and Ratchet.

By the middle of the night he finally resorted to opening his chest plates and stuffing the thermal blanket inside him, around his spark and critical internals. He then turned on every system he had and revved his engine repeatedly for the little surges of warmth.

Then Optimus was forced by the energy demands of his now online systems to drink an entire cube of energon throughout the night, necessary to keep his engine running at its highest cycles. It was just enough to keep him from freezing to death in that little hollow he had dug for himself.

It was the worst night he had ever had out in the wilds.

 _This does not bode well,_ was his primary thought, which he pushed away to avoid thinking about the implications.

Optimus stayed awake for the full duration of it, curled up in a tight ball, his servos stuffed into the tiny crack he allowed in his chest plating so as not to lose the tiny energon lines in them to the hellish cold.

 

* * *

 

“Come,” Megatron's deep, cultured vocalizer rumbled.

The issued command allowed no delay, and the undertone was dark and unpleasant. Motormaster, plating still bashed up from his leader’s manic ire and the furious battle he had helped fight that morning, carefully edged into Lord Megatron’s personal quarters.

Motormaster knew he deserved whatever was going to happen tonight. He had lost his helm and enjoyed himself at his leader’s expense. He had touched and wrecked his leader’s things. If they were back on Cybertron, or if he had pulled this at any time during the Great War, he would have been dead by now.

No question.

Motormaster would have been completely deactivated and scrapped, leadership of the Stunticon gestalt would have been transferred to someone else, and it would have been a long and brutal escort to the Afterspark by his leader.

Megatron took such things very personally, as normally he kept very little for himself. His primary focus throughout his long life has been the advancement of the Decepticon Empire and his faction. Beyond the glory of battle, his own personal possessions were few, but jealously guarded.

Motormaster had taken one look at the furious set of his leader's flashing, homicidal optics that morning in the throne room, and had all but given himself up for dead. But the furious punishment had ended before it had even barely begun. Megatron had only just gotten past the preliminaries when Ion Storm’s frantic call had come through the emergency lines, reporting the dead Sweep chained to the hull.

Astrotrain had escaped punishment entirely, though he would have preferred the vicious beating he would have received (a lesser punishment for his smaller part in the attack as a result of implicating Motormaster as the primary culprit) over his final fate. He had been one of the casualties of the battle along with Ion Storm and several others. No one had escaped injury, and Hook was still hard at work tonight with repairs, currently under the watchful optics and charged weapons of Onslaught and Blast Off.

The only silver lining was that because of that battle, Motormaster had been given a chance to remind his leader of his worth as a soldier. He knew his life was still on the line if his crime was all that stood between himself and his otherwise homicidal leader.

His dying to an enemy would be preferable to what Megatron was going to do to him that morning, vastly preferable to what would have happened to him if the attack had not stalled his punishment, and so he had fought in a near manic state, desperate to prove himself to Megatron. He had stayed near Megatron, sticking to his back plates and defending him like a mad mech.

 _Don’t kill me. I am still of worth,_ and Motormaster’s every frantic movement and lashing strikes had been a clear plea for his life.

It had been a brutal fight, but the Decepticons had fully justified their fierce reputation as elite warriors. They rallied and Galvatron’s forces took heavy losses. The defeated Sweep bodies are burning tonight, providing the necessary tinder for the cheerful flames and warmth to sooth the freezing cold soldiers clustered outside. The flames were high and bright and hot, but the mood around the bonfires was somber tonight.

The only mechs not hovering around the fires were Megatron and Motormaster (not counting the wounded in the ratty Medbay; each miserably awaiting their turn for repairs under Hook’s giggling intakes and less-then-sane servos).

For his part, Megatron remained more lenient then he ever wanted to be, as every mech in his army was desperately needed. This attack had been the worst yet, and the damage to his base was extensive. Both of his consorts were missing. The bereaved warlord would be tearing this planet apart right now to reclaim them, but it was night and one of the coldest yet.

They had yet to get the internal heating system up and functioning due to lack of proper supplies and the ship’s own debilitated state, but Megatron was going to make that a priority over all other concerns now. They didn’t know this planet’s weather systems and cycles yet, but the cold continued to get worse and worse, with the periods of darkness getting longer.

 _This must be winter ..._ and as Megatron exhaled, the puffed vapor swirled around him. He was sitting in a chair with the chess board in front of him. It was the only thing in this room besides him, the furniture, the bitter cold, and the guiltily fidgeting Motormaster before him.

Megatron should have been spending the night warm with one of the few mechs that made life on this miserable planet still worth living, and his spark tightened in rage for his loss. However many his sins, and for all of his faults and failings, what churned though his spark for his two favorite mechs was very real and very genuine, and he was beyond worried for them both.

Their loss was incalculable to him now, in this, what seemed to be the end of their race, the end of days.

Fortunately, the mech primarily responsible for the cruelty his quiet Prime had suffered had survived the morning battle, and though Megatron didn’t feel he could kill the useful Stunticon fidgeting in front of him due to their dreadful situation … it didn’t mean that severe punishment wouldn’t be coming.

Megatron exposed his sharp denta at Motormaster, a most unpleasant smile. “Normally I would never lower myself touch you,” he began, keeping his tone conversational, “but we have unfinished business. You enjoyed yourself so fully at my expense. Finding myself bereft tonight, I have decided to return the favor.”

Then Motormaster noticed the pile of chains at Megatron's pedes ... and Megatron's smile grew that much uglier, colder then even the air around them. For the position Prime had been contorted to _had_ been rather beautiful, and Motormaster swallowed noisily. His gaze flicked upwards, and he quailed before the cold red optics that stared back at him.

“That’s fair, isn’t it?” asked Megatron smoothly, his optics bright with malice as he gestured for the Stunticon to approach. Motormaster quailed under that terrible gaze, but obeyed as he must.

 _I should have listened to Astrotrain,_ and it was Motormaster's first and last ... coherent ... thought for the night, as a dark and merciless fist exploded in his face.

 

* * *

 

Starscream had a rather annoying night, all things considered.

The temperature rapidly dropped to levels that could only be called obscene and he quickly realized that the Unicronians had no supplies what-so-ever to deal with the cold. The cave systems within flight range of Decepticon territory were many and varied, but they were all shallow and provided little or no protection against the dreadful cold at night, beyond shelter from the wind.

Starscream was unimpressed to discover that their standard method for surviving the night was simply to crush together into tight standing groups and run their engines loudly, the drones taking turns to not run out of energy before the long night was over.

Fortunately he couldn’t see the seething mass of mechanicals. He couldn't hear the irritating, buzzing whine of dozens of Sweep flight engines roaring simultaneously for his deactivated senses, but the vibration and the feel of the crush of bodies around him made the situation very clear.

“What is wrong with you mechs?!” Starscream had shrieked out into the silent darkness, and someone tried to pat his head. They barely pulled their servo back in time. He was having flashbacks of the first night the Decepticons had spent on this planet and he was _not amused._

Find an appropriate base of operations, a good fuel source, and then make some good enemies, that is the sensible way to wage war. The Unicronians have violated two of the three most basic rules of Cybertronian warfare. Starscream muttered to himself about the unspeakable lack of common sense of the glitches around him as engine vibrations rattled his plating. He set about making a nuisance of himself as was his wont when captured by enemies, but he was quickly and securely tied down and crushed between two heavy frames.

Galvatron and Cyclonus, presumably.

It was quite the disagreeable night, though he did manage to get some recharge. The morning couldn’t come fast enough. As soon as the cold had eased back to tolerable levels, the Unicronians had disbanded, and he was conducted by a firm hand back to what passed for a throne room. There was a pause as he was guided to a pool of proto-fuel and prodded to drink.

Starscream did so without complaint, hurriedly gulping down the fluid and filling his fuel tanks to the brim. Another concern hit him then; a basic truth that came rushing back into his mind. The concerning situation became very clear as he was returned to his place, chained on a short tether near the throne with no further offering of any real immediately usable fuel.

They don’t have any energon.

Starscream hadn’t been offered any real fuel at all, actually. There was a good chance they had used up everything they had stolen making their nasty little bombs.

 _Yet another thing I can’t worry about right now,_ Starscream decided. He doubted his captors had thought that far ahead, and probably just assumed that victory over the Decepticons meant they would take control of the distillery, and then it was problem solved. Fortunately he would be fine for a little while, thanks to Soundwave’s unfailing generosity.

Starscream put his worries out of his processor then, and worked his way around to the back of the throne using his wings and servos to feel his way. Then he went straight back into needed recharge. He managed a good long snooze as he was vastly more comfortable stretched out.

A heavy thump nearby woke him out of his recharge.

 _Probably should get up,_ he thought.

Starscream pulled himself properly upright and oriented his wings to an acceptable angle, proud and haughty. He kept his wings extended, using the panels to keep test the air currents around him. He was far more aware of the faint air flows around him now. His wings were always sensitive but now he found himself using them as his primary means of information in regards to the outside world.

Starscream felt a soft rush of air, and immediately knew the hulk on the throne next to him was reaching out to touch him. He backed away with a warning hiss he couldn’t hear himself make. He scowled furiously when his clear warning was ignored and there was a tug on his chain. He glowered threateningly as he was slowly reeled in.

 

***

 

The difference between captivity as a chained mech and as a code mech was the difference between day and night. Galvatron, accustomed to the complete obedience of slave coded mechs, was learning painful lessons today.

Lord Galvatron’s servo returned to pat him, and Starscream bit down on it with a vicious snap, grinding his fanged denta deep into the metal and _twisting._ He was backhanded as expected, and fell to the furthest away his chains would allow. He rolled in his chains to take something of a defensive position and clenched his fists.

Maybe it was foolish of him, but the longer he spent in the dark and silence with no further abuse (to his questionable standards) inflicted then what he would have expected from his captors, the less worried he became.

His tether had remained surprisingly long in spite of his aggressive responses to all handling. He used his fists on any Sweep that wandered too near and his razor sharp denta answered any touches to his helm and face. The servos that initially kept trying to redefine him as a pet mech were slapped away with unmitigated insult and fury.

His range of movement was roughly three or four wing-lengths in any direction. More than enough for the clever fighter to work with and maybe that was the point. Galvatron seemed to appreciate him for his vicious beauty and keen fighting ability, and was clearly impressed with the flight build now that he wasn’t completely lost in a mad haze of dark energon.

Starscream’s wings were fully extended, flared in his fettered aggression. _Frag you,_ his stance and furious expression clearly stated, as he readied himself for whatever response was coming, intending to violently repay any abuse.

 _You will respect me._ Starscream furiously returned the dangerous glower he assumed the hulking barbarian was probably aiming at him from his throne of crumbled stones. _You will respect me or I will take my due reverence from you in blood._

Starscream felt around with his flared wings, the sensitive panels aware of even the slightest currents of air washing over them. Streams of sensory data were being processed at the sub-conscious level of his processing. Such sensitivity was normally meant to give him utmost control at wildly high rates of speed while in flight.

Even without his primary senses, Starscream’s spatial sense of the air currents around him remained acute.

The sensitivity of his wings functioned almost as a form of sonar and he knew they would serve him well. His wings twitched, and then the panels relaxed a fraction as no dangerous currents flowed across them. He sat back and stretched a bit, fanning them. Due to their sensitivity his wings were the most sensuous part of him, and Megatron had been known to coax him into the mood for an interface with a few well targeted strokes along those long, sensitive panels.

Fortunately there was no further attack or violence coming his way, not right now, anyway. _You can’t,_ and the thought made Starscream's plating flare in sheerest exuberance. _I am too valuable. I am deaf and blind and any damage I inflict on you is your own damned fault._

Starscream snarled as much to the darkness, “I am deaf and blind, and still I can send you fleeing before me!” and his boasting was clear and loud. He was getting used to the dark, to the all encompassing silence, and that his voice never registered to his own senses. The silent words did rattle his vocalizer a tiny bit, so he knew he was being heard. He kept his tone haughty and proud, and his wings reflected those same sentiments.

It wasn’t very wise of him to antagonize his captor and he knew that. But he simply couldn’t resist. He suffered from an over-abundance of confidence and it did sometimes get him into trouble. A few moments later a faint breath of air over both wings announced the approach of the hulking brute he had been snarling so triumphantly at.

Starscream hissed in warning and worked himself into a ready stance, curling his injured pede beneath him to shield it from further mech-handling. There was a faint brush of air and a tweak to a sensitive wing panel, and he snorted at that.

“Really? Back for more already?”

There was a strong (to his sensitive wing panels) gust of air and he knew instantly that Galvatron was going to try and pin him down. He lashed out a fist directly in front of him and circled the arm out in a wide and harsh circle, and connected with lunging metal and knocking it aside. There was a heavy thud to the right of him.

Starscream laughed, and then leapt forward a pace and whirled, using his wings to orient from where the next attack would be coming from. This went on for several long breems, Galvatron lunging at him and Starscream lashing out and whirling away.

Galvatron was powerful, but he wasn’t very graceful or fast. He did seem to have a plan of some type, however. He wasn’t just reaching out to grab and control. He was actively trying to position himself for a particular hold. He also wasn’t in a hurry and took his time between attempts, his heavy pede steps vibrating the ground as he moved around.

 _He is trying to get over top of me,_ and Starscream darted a few steps forward in alarm. _Probably to get between my wings to damage them. I really shouldn’t be antagonizing this idiot,_ and he whirled again, keeping his front facing Galvatron, white wings spread and fanned out.

 _There is more than just me to worry about here,_ Starscream reminded himself, and then Galvatron lunged and finally connected. Starscream found himself flat out on his front, with the weight of the heavy bastard across his back, keeping him down.

“Congratulations on your oh so glorious victory,” Starscream snarked back at the darkness, aiming his vocalizer over his shoulder towards the heavy mass across the small of his back strut. “It must be such hard work to overwhelm a chained, carrying mech.”

 _The better to remind him to behave himself back there,_ and the thought filled Starscream with alarm. Then unseen servos rubbed crudely across the thin, sensitive plating of Starscream’s wings. The servos were just as unskilled as before; the brash mech who owned them never bothered to learn how to pleasure others. His clumsy movements were so unlike Megatron’s thoughtful, firm touch and the clever strokes his wings normally enjoyed. However, with Starscream’s sensory input restricted to plate sensation, Galvatron really didn’t have to be.

 _Ohhh, wing rub,_ and with that realization, Starscream frowned as only Megatron or his trine would ever dare touch his wings without careful permission. Instantly peeved, he quickly considered the possibilities.

 _They really should reconsider giving me so much room to move around,_ and Starscream's spark curled merrily. There were lots and lots of opportunities to cause pain and damage and his processors were gleefully pointing out each and every one. However, he knew that he really, really needed to stop antagonizing and start planning his escape. His fuel levels wouldn’t stay adequate for very long, certainly not if he had to fight. Fortunately now that his internal audial and visual systems were off-line, his systems were far less hungry. That was something, for however much it was an unacceptable tradeoff.

 _Hmm... so if I shouldn’t harass you, maybe I can dominate you instead. All he has is a spike ..._ _I can work with that. Turn it around on him. Take what I want from him instead._ _He is more functional now, but he is still a simpleton and my processors are far beyond his meager functioning._

Not to mention his overabundance of confidence…and yet it has served him well over his long life even as much as it gets him into amazing amounts of trouble.

Starscream made his decision and then made a show of sighing at the touch. He rotated and flexed and pushed his wings against the fingers, taking from them what he wanted instead of merely receiving it. His flight engines purred as he worked the sensitive plating over the fingers as he liked. Starscream had made up his mind that there was going to be an overload today, but it was going to be on _his_ terms.

 _Guess what, Unicronian. Now y_ _ou are the frag toy here._

 

***

 

At some point, Galvatron became aware power had shifted servos.

This was especially apparent when he found himself on his back plates, being ridden by his new consort. Every time he tried to reach out and touch the beautiful flight mech riding him, his servos were sharply slapped away with a furious hiss and a warning snap of razor-sharp denta. Starscream would stop the delightful and furiously sensual up and down glide along the ridges of his spike to glower down at him, snarling and snapping at him until he lay meekly like the good frag toy he didn’t realize he was being used as. It would have been exciting and exhilarating to have such a beautiful mech on his spike…

But for the words coming out of said beautiful mech’s razor-sharp vocalizer. “Primus, could you put some _damned effort_ into this you lazy glitch? Push up when I come down. Haven’t you done this before? How old _are you_ and how do you _not know how to frag!?”_

Galvatron would have struck him for his insolence, but he was worried about the sharp denta. He was slowly developing a strong respect for that sharp vocalizer with its even sharper fangs, to the point he was getting reluctant to touch the mech from that end, much like one would respect the sharp end of a furious serpent. Starscream had an incredible bite, both verbal and physical.

“How do you function being so _utterly useless_ , you sorry wretch? Frag me! Primus just _frag me_ , is this what my functioning has come to, putting up with your _useless aft?!_ Someone just shoot me now-”

The withering, abusive commentary continued unabated.

***

 

Starscream released his charge with an audial-piercing shriek. 

All things considered it was good, it felt _very_ good, and then Starscream narrowed his optics as his over-sized frag toy tipped over into his own overload. He took the distraction for the opportunity it presented and got the slag off Galvatron's spike before it could begin to empty. He could feel Galvatron heaving next to him, the hot puffs of his ex-vents gusting across his wing plating as Galvatron left his mess on the floor instead. Pleased to avoid it, Starscream moved as far away from the barbarian as his chain tether would allow.

Galvatron didn’t seem offended, thankfully, and there was no repercussions from him. That emboldened Starscream even more and he promptly forgot his plan of not antagonizing his captors yet again.

 _Let’s see just how stupid you really are. Try to put it in my intake again,_ and Starscream was grinning inside. _Please._

Starscream opened his intakes and ran his glossa over his lip plating invitingly. He dipped his helm down to where he estimated Galvatron's spike would probably be if Galvatron was still seated where Starscream had left him. He let his lip plates curve up into the lovely smile no one in his faction was ever, ever happy to see, and curled his servos in an inviting gesture.

But Galvatron wasn't so foolish to fall for that again. Instead he clambered to his feet and withdrew. The pounding of his heavy pede steps as he walked away shook the floor enough that Starscream could feel him leave.

 _Oh, he can be taught,_ and Starscream smirked to himself. _Definitely trainable, that one._

Starscream sat back then, and forever and always, began to plot and scheme and consider. _I could use this. I could mess with him and get him to reactivate my audials and optics. I could wrap him around my servo and take control of him and his Sweeps … kill him with his own minions and then take control of the Decepticons and dethrone Megatron for good..._

His optics hazed over and his wings flicked in dark delight at the thought of total victory over Megatron. But then reality crashed back down on him yet again, always ruining his endless and grandiose plans.

_I don’t have the energy to keep my sparkling alive here. And I don’t want that aft around my fingers. I already have a pit-spawned glitch of a leader and frankly his spike is way…way…better than what this slagging idiot is packing._

_He is coming for me anyway,_ Starscream thought. And that was the other half of his confidence on display for his adversaries, though he would never admit it. There was a great big aggressive silver tank coming for him. Every bit his equal in tactical genius (when his bloated over-confidence wasn't sabotaging him anyway) and his thrumming power the counterweight to match his sleek grace.

Megatron was coming and there was no question, no doubt in Starscream’s processor. There would be no quarter given when the Slagmaker arrived and it was going to be _ugly._

 _My pit-spawned leader better get his aft here quick. I am tired of these glitching half-wits._ Then Starscream face-palmed at the wave of emotion that had just coursed through him at the thought of Megatron, oblivious of the curiosity his movements roused in the Unicronians nearby.

 _I can’t believe I miss that stupid glitch,_ he thought, utterly disgusted with himself. His current situation was actually making him miss and appreciate his sorry-aft leader and he didn't like it one bit.

 _No,_ Starscream decided. _I will not be waiting here to be saved by his sorry aft. I will be rescuing myself._

Starscream sat back in satisfaction as no further contact came and he returned to his careful inspection of his light frame. He could feel he had enough energy and his tanks felt full of the proto-fuel, though he had no idea of the percentage. He was satisfied he could still fly and fight well enough, even with the damaged pede. Fortunately the turbine was still functional.

Now he just needed an opportunity.

 

* * *

 

Optimus traveled through the day, transforming to truck mode and moving out as soon as it was warm enough. He missed the axe he had lost up the ridge in the fight with Galvatron. It had been wonderful to have a weapon in his hands again.

Optimus made good time, once again not bothering to stick to safer routes, unwilling to take the time necessary to be careful. It had worked well for him previously, but both he and Starscream had gone missing, and unfortunately (and fortunately!) Megatron was hard at work moving mountains to get his berth mates back. The entirety of the Decepticon faction had been organized into aggressive search parties, all working diligently to track down the Unicronian base and the lost faction mates that were surely being abused within.

The Decepticons were ranging far and wide in their search and it wasn’t long before a Decepticon patrol found him.

Panic hit as Optimus heard the whine of vibrant flight engines far above him. He slammed on his brakes and starting skidding. He transformed immediately, pressing himself flat against the wall of the crevasse in hopes of avoiding detection.

Two Seekers crested the crevasse in a standard search pattern, their undersides black and unrecognizable while backlit by the weak sunlight. They darted overhead, floating high above him, and then banked immediately. Optimus realized with a hiss of alarm that he had been spotted by the sharp optics of the Armada and he set his pedes for the fight of his life.

 _I won't go back to Megatron,_ thought Optimus, and thankfully the slave coding would not keep him from harming these mechs if they attempted to take him by force.

“Hey Prime!” … and then a very familiar _wharp_ sound caused him to whip his helm around. One resounding smack later and his aft plating took a very playful hit, even as Skywarp materialized behind him, prudently jumping back a pace with merry eyes flashing brightly.

Optimus remained in his combat stance, but Skywarp's expression and the cant of his wings were completely relaxed and friendly. “Ha! Told you I would get you later,” and Skywarp flicked his wings. “Glad to see you still kicking! We thought Galvatron got you for sure this time.”

Skywarp was clearly happy to see Optimus. His wings were flared without the slightest suggestion of wariness in his plating or the wide, joyful smile on his face plates. As far as Skywarp was concerned, he was standing across from a fellow Decepticon, tragically lost during battle and now safely found.

 _They must be out on a search patrol,_ Optimus realized. _They are always in pairs or trios, so that means the other one is probably-_

Optimus swallowed carefully and then spun his helm back around. Swirls of dust and grit wafted around him as the air was whipped wildly about by the force of Thundercracker throttling back his turbines. Transforming mid-air, Thundercracker landed next to him with a light and graceful thump.

“Are you alright, Prime?” asked Thundercracker, as he stepped forward and placed his hand on Prime’s shoulder in a concerned gesture. He took a moment to look over his faction mate, clearly checking for signs of damage.

“I … am fine Thundercracker,” answered Optimus, while eyeing the servo on his shoulder warily. He knew he was more than a match for them both, but only if he kept his guard.

Thundercracker stepped back for Prime's cautious tone and gave him a sudden, knowing look. He looked up to the sky for a moment and then back down at the floor of the winding trench. Prime's tire tracks led _away_ from the base, out towards the far horizon. Then Thundercracker took a step further back to a more formal distance instead of the presumptuously friendly space that had been between them. His lip plating narrowed into a slight frown as he met Optimus’ piercing gaze for a long moment, and then his wings tilted back a fraction. Optimus had spent enough time around them to recognize the movement for the acquiescent gesture it was.

 _Thundercracker is not going to give me any difficulty today,_ and Optimus relaxed a bare fraction for the silent understanding that flowed between them. _I can handle Skywarp if he decides to be troublesome_.

Relief soothed Optimus' plating a little closer to his protoform, while Thundercracker glanced over to his trine mate for his response. TC was promptly disappointed that his oblivious partner had missed the minor and yet ever-so-important exchange with the Prime. It doesn’t surprise him though, as this particular trine mate wasn’t much for subtlety.

“Everyone is out searching today,” said Skywarp while looking up at the small patch of visible sky. Then he dropped his helm and smiled at Prime, the expression more then a little flirtatious.

“It was one hell of a fight yesterday. We lost Ion Storm and some of the others,” Skywarp continued and his vocalizer darkened. Decepticons try not to get attached, but that could be difficult at times, especially after being trapped on this sorry excuse for a world. They were all that was left of their kind, and each loss was now a final countdown towards extinction. Unfortunate that even at this point, peace remained an impossible dream for their embittered species.

Optimus didn’t move a micron. His face plates were stoic and wary. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said carefully. “Is Starscream alright?”

Skywarp eagerly stepped forward now that he was sure Prime wasn’t going to punch him for the aft slap. He was only a little disappointed with the lack of response to his playful smack. Dodging the retaliation is half the fun… but oh well. Prime was always on the quiet side, anyway. Daring to try his luck, Skywarp moved a little closer to his quiet faction mate.

“No. He disappeared and we can’t find him.” Thundercracker answered as Skywarp took another infatuated step forward. Thundercracker reached out and grabbed his amorous trine mate’s arm and hauled him back, pulling Skywarp back the formal distance he'd already taken with Prime.

 _What the frag is your problem,_ Skywarp’s wings flicked querulously. He also answered Prime at the same time. “Everyone is out looking for you and Starscream. Do you know what happened to ‘Screamer?”

 _Prime is not coming back to base with us,_ Thundercracker flicked back at him.

 _The frag he isn’t,_ and Skywarp's optics widened slightly.

“Galvatron had the Sweeps pull him away from the base,” answered Optimus, though he kept a close optic on Skywarp. There were a lot of wing twitches between the two Decepticons now, and though the movements were subtle, he had recently come to understand this to be a form of language. They were talking to each other in presumed secrecy, and he didn't like it.

“Galvatron has him for certain then,” Skywarp groaned.

“Well obviously,” Thundercracker snapped at Skywarp. “He isn’t back at base, is he?”

 _He is a Decepticon now and he can come back when he wants to. It’s on his helm._ Thundercracker flicked his wing at his querulous trine mate. _Megatron asked him point-blank if he was one of us and he said yes._

 _Megatron will be pissed though…_ Skywarp flicked, nervously. _He doesn't understand how things work yet. And what if he doesn't come back?_

 _Frag Megatron, owning slaves is wrong._ Thundercracker’s wings flicked back in pure aggression. _Leave Prime be. He can make his own stupid mistakes like everyone else._

 _But… I like him,_ Skywarp flicked and his twitching wings drooped.

“I gave chase and helped him break free of the Sweeps," Optimus said carefully, wary for all the wing-chatting that was going on over his helm. “We were flying back together when Galvatron attacked. He tackled Starscream in midair and I was dislodged. I fell down the crevasse. He fought the enemy with great bravery and I hope he is alright.”

Optimus Prime finished on that note, and then set his legs again, feeling threatened. He took a long, measured look at the cant of the wings flicking at him, and fixed Skywarp with a firm frown. He was going to defend himself if these two turned violent, and his body language was very clear; though only one of the two seekers facing him picked up on it.

 _Leave him be, ‘Warp._ Thundercracker's wings booked no argument.

 _Fine, whatever._ Skywarp looked so disappointed. _He has to come back anyway or he’ll die._

But Skywarp's wings remained tilted in a worried sort of way. “Do you need help getting out of here?” asked Skywarp, while stepping back to an even politer distance as he gestured at the wall of the crevasse. “We are pretty far out, in a search pattern to try to locate the Unicronian base.”

“No, Skywarp.” Optimus shook his helm. “I am looking for Ratchet, my medic. He needs my help. He is alone and this planet is too inhospitable for him to last long.”

Thundercracker watched Prime, heard the hope still living within in his deep voice and there was sympathy hiding behind Thundercracker's quiet reply. “Megatron thinks he is already dead. We called off the search quite a while ago.”

“I don’t believe that,” Optimus said firmly. He couldn’t believe it...he'd suffered too much, compromised himself too much for all of this to have been in vain. Ratchet was out there, and he was going to save his old friend, and that was that.

“We will let you go,” Thundercracker said, glaring firmly at Skywarp. “We won’t tell Megatron we saw you. He thinks Galvatron captured you along with Starscream.”

“Thank you,” said Optimus quietly, his first honest expression of gratitude in some time.

“Sure.”

Then Thundercracker leapt back into the air, transformed and gunned his engine, disappearing back into the sky in a flash. Skywarp took to the air as well, but merely hovered for a moment. “If you find Ratchet,” Skywarp called down to Prime, “Think about coming back, okay? We need him and Megatron will forgive you for sure if you show up with your medic.”

Skywarp gave him a long, hopeful look. Then he transformed and fired his thrusters, darting after his trine mate, and Optimus watched them disappear with a shiver of relief. 

As for Skywarp’s offer, Optimus discarded it out of hand. He would need to have a serious discussion with Ratchet about it, but he was almost certain that Ratchet would be as dead set against it as he was. The old medic had patched up too many damaged Autobots over the long course of their war to be willing to bend his knees to Megatron now.

But there was the greater concern of the severe weather on this planet to consider. Optimus shook his head and put it out of his mind. After making sure the two Decepticons were truly gone, he transformed and burned rubber.

He was only hours away from the coordinates now.

 

* * *

 

Megatron revved his modified flight engine and transformed into tank mode, dropping heavily onto the dusty grey ground. His tank treads left deep furrows in the soft silt as he inspected the cave entrance before him, rumbling forward.

No sign of recent entry. There were no current occupiers, yet another promising lead ending up empty and useless. Megatron was certain the longer he wasted time the worse his consorts were suffering.

Prime in particular was already injured and couldn't take more abuse, and Megatron was dreadfully worried for him. Deeply worried for both of them; he knew Galvatron still blamed Starscream for the defeat he had suffered from of their first real clash.

Megatron gunned his heavy engine again in a rumble of sustained irritation. He had only barely started his second leg of his long search patrol when Soundwave’s monotone voice broke through his internal comm lines.

“Lord Megatron?”

Megatron opened his comm line with a flash of hope. “Report, Soundwave.”

“Starscream’s position: located.”

“Excellent,” and Megatron ground to a halt, engine revving in satisfaction. “Which of the teams found him?”

“Negative. Starscream planted a tracking beacon on me to monitor my movements.”

Megatron snorted. “Hardly surprising. You were unconscious for a long time.” His jet was clever and constantly up to these little plots and plans; always keeping things interesting.

“Affirmative. Existence of such implanted device suspected immediately, but location proved difficult to access for deactivation.”

“Do I want to know?” Megatron muttered.

“Negative,” and Soundwave sounded a little … peeved over it. He was going to be questioning Dirge again over the situation his cassettes had interrupted, now infamously referred to as ‘the incident’ which occurred while he was unconscious.

“I have used Starscream’s tracking signal,” Soundwave continued, “and reverse triangulated coordinates from beacon.”

Megatron’s powerful voice boomed over the line, and it crackled static with his laughter. “Of course you did. Send me the coordinates to a central point within five miles of that location and contact all of my soldiers to converge there.”

His vocalizer was thick with approval and satisfaction as he continued, “Galvatron has Prime and Starscream, I am certain of it, Soundwave. And that means this location is most likely that of their base.”

Megatron’s razor smile could be heard through the crackling line. “Let’s finish this.”

 

* * *

 

Optimus slammed on his brakes, skidding to a stop.

He checked and then double-checked, but this was the location. He stood for a long moment and studied the area. It was a normal looking part of the chasm, with no obvious caves or side passages.

Optimus searched carefully, walking down for a ways and then back, walking the full distance and back along both sides. Nothing jumped out at him. There was a small crack but when he checked it, the tiny passage was clearly too small for Ratchet to have used.

Optimus searched the entire area again from top to bottom. He checked every pile of rocks, all of the walls, and wandered over and around the chasm floor, but still found nothing.

He grew confused, and then sat down and reworked the coordinates again.

Optimus was deeply tired from the journey, and from the long night spent in the cold while still recovering from his injuries. As he leaned back with his back strut resting against the wall and carefully ran through the encryption process, his mind rebelled. It slowly shut down his circuits one by one, insisting on the recharge he so desperately needed.

After a few long moments he unintentionally gave in to his need and relaxed into a light recharge.

It wasn't long before the dreams found him.

.

..

_... Megatron was laying on his back plating, smiling lazily up at the beloved companion laying across his warm plating. They were in their quarters nestled together in their shared berth, and it was morning. Powerful servos ran over the red and blue plating, tracing the lines along his back strut, fingers dipping in to tease and stroke the wires there._

_Silver lip plating kissed a gentle path up sensitive neck cabling, little flicks of a glossa leaving the faintest traces of oral lubricants up his neck, alighting his senses in the wake of the pleasuring mouth. The black servos slide up and down his sore back strut, working in soothing circles over his metal._

_Megatron's intakes capture his mouth in a firm kiss and the taste was sweet as the glossa dipped in. He shuddered, feeling the brush of hot metal between them, and shivered as a gentle servo left his back and trailed down, slowly down and between them, reaching down and sliding across his anterior node. The fingers tease across and rub the node, drawing an aroused murmur and shivers from him. Then the fingers slip down and trace his moistening valve rim, stroking up and down the slit. Then they carefully part him, slipped inside him, exploring him, and lovingly stroke over his shallower nodes._

_The servos were a pleasured glide across his soft mesh, and he pressed against them, pushing his valve so they slid further inside him, wanting more. They dip and withdraw and dip again, the tips of the fingers teasing nodes and building charge, electric sensation sparking between the fingertips as the Megatron's movements mimic a gentle and languid penetration. Megatron murmured his approval of Optimus' soft moans and removed his fingers, and a hot, thick spike took their place, pushing against his entrance and spreading him wide._

_Optimus arched back as he was taken, slowly, slowly filled to his deepest places. His rim spread wide, so wide to accept the other, and he sat up on the spike, raising himself up and then pushing slowly back down, feeling the heat of it and shuddering feverishly as he rode Megatron's burning hot metal. He felt his valve cycle down, calipers latching into place, his walls clenching down on the thick intruder. He rode the spike hard then, pushing and grinding his sensitive valve over the ridges and enjoying the feel of the rub of hot metal over his sensitive mesh._

_Megatron hissed and flipped them, taking control. He shuddered in bliss and began thrusting down hard, starting up a furious pace as his berth mate wrapped his thighs around his waist and urged him on, harder, deeper..._

..

.

Optimus shook himself awake, startled. It was another lucid dream and this one felt particularly real. He could feel the beginnings of the fever, no doubt where the dream originated from. Megatron had been very considerate of his injuries, and hadn't touched him since the attack, but there was a price paid for that restraint. It was a reminder that he was on a timer, and he grumbled and returned to reworking the coordinates again.

“This is the correct place,” Optimus murmured aloud after a while. _I don’t understand._

He looked over the ground carefully, but other than his own numerous, confused tracks, there was nothing to indicate another Cybertronian had been here recently. There were no pede tracks, no tire tracks, _nothing._

Optimus found himself walking in circles, confused and frustrated.

 

* * *

 

It took several hours of hard flying, but the Decepticons converged on the indicated position.

A battle plan was formed as the first few soldiers arrived and scouted out the enemy’s encampment, a sprawling cave system with partially concealed ceiling vents. The land looked mostly flat and empty to anyone flying over it, but Laserbeak’s careful scouting has confirmed the caves hidden beneath the ground contain the resting Unicronian forces and one lone, chained seeker.

“Something is interfering with Starscream’s comms,” Onslaught reported to Megatron when he arrived. “We can’t get through to him, even though we know he is in range. We've confirmed he is in there though, and other then no contact, Laserbeak reports he still looks functional.”

“Good,” Megatron said. “And what of Prime?”

“Nothing, Lord Megatron.” Onslaught reported. “Laserbeak checked the entire cave, the Autobot isn’t here.”

Megatron was deeply disappointed to hear Prime was not among the Unicronians. He waved Onslaught back to his primary task and walked a few paces away, watching as his forces (all initially dispersed out in search parties) are creeping in to join up with the offensive.

“Soundwave, are you certain Prime is not here?” Megatron double checked with Soundwave, and his spark sank when the bad news was confirmed a moment later.

Skywarp and Thundercracker were standing near their leader, and watched as his plating flared in deep agitation. He turned his back plating to them and asked Soundwave another question. They glanced at each other, but wisely say nothing. The business of their reluctant red and blue faction mate was his own, as were the consequences he would face for defying their leader.

Onslaught and his Combaticon team were in charge of maintaining their cover, and they ambushed any Sweeps that left the cave systems. Hisses of surprise and shock followed the brutal attacks as the drones appeared out of the small vents on their own patrol assignments only to find themselves under immediate attack. The unfortunate Sweeps were further alarmed to discover their internal comms didn’t work. They encounter only static when they frantically tried to comm their brothers resting inside the cave system of the Decepticon army on their doorstep.

Soundwave continued to prove invaluable to his faction as his internally mounted communication jamming systems aided in keeping the Decepticon’s presence a secret. The enemy remained unaware of the danger creeping up on them as any Sweeps leaving and returning found themselves at the mercy of the Combaticons. Soundwave ejected Laserbeak and sent her in for a final scouting run while the Decepticons waited for the last of their soldiers to arrive.

Not long after she went in, the furtive little avian re-appeared safely back out from one of the natural vents. She flitted through the air, swooping gracefully and maneuvering around the very few rock formations, currently sheltering the Decepticon army. Coming in hard and fast, she landed with a click on Megatron’s shoulder. Laserbeak transmitted her gathered data with clicks and chirps and Megatron smiled back at her fondly. He extended his arm and wrist for her to perch on comfortably. Her sharp talons barely grazed his metal as she hopped down to her preferred place between his arm and wrist joints.

“Good work,” Megatron murmured to her as he looked over the cave vents before him. “It is so pleasing to have Soundwave back to normal functioning, and the both of you at my side. You never fail me.”

The mechanical bird preened at the rare praise and then flared her wings. Megatron indulgently dropped his arm and then hurtled his limb back up, giving the little scout a boost back into the sky. She winged her way to a patiently waiting Soundwave, hunkered down in a cluster of rocks in the distance.

Laserbeak had located the main entrance, and that would be the primary attack point. Megatron would be leading the first wave of the assault while several small attack teams split off to attack from the sides, entering the cave from the ceiling vents. Soundwave had a special task, and would be critical to the upcoming battle. Thundercracker, Skywarp and the rest of the armada would be providing the initial attack volley from the air to break up any defenders stationed at the cave entrance in the distance.

 _I hope Prime hurries back with his medic,_ Skywarp flicked at his trine mate hopefully while they waited for the signal from command to start the rescue.

 _Shut up about it,_ Thundercracker flicked back at him instantly. _Megatron knows wing-speak._

Skywarp winced, then looked away. Then he caught sight of movement and his optics widened. "Hey, I think we are starting," Skywarp said though his comms to his trine mate, wings flicking in anticipation. "Yep, grounders are getting ready."

"Let’s do this." Thundercracker said, and brought his weapon systems online with a grim smile.

 

***

 

Further down the ridge, Soundwave was kneeling in an outcropping of towering stones. Hidden from sight, he was waiting while the other Decepticons began their initial assaulting run on the Unicronian cave fortress.

“Rumble, eject. Operation: Cave In.”

The mouthy cassette ejected as ordered and transformed, landing on both pedes. But instead of charging immediately forward the mini-mech whirled around and tilted his small helm in clear disappointment, directed firmly at the blue tape deck kneeling quietly in the shadows of the rock formation.

“Are you serious? That’s the best you could come up with? ‘Operation Cave In,’ I mean really?” Rumble scowled at his cassette carrier in annoyance.

“For slag’s sake,” Rumble shook his miniature fist in mock fury, “try and put a little effort into it!”

Soundwave just stared at Rumble.

Rumble shrugged cheekily and then started forward. “Yeah, yeah, off I go.” The cassette charged forward to find a good position to activate his pile drivers. “Prepare to crumble,” the cassette yelled out as the Decepticon assault began, “before Rumble!”

Soundwave just sighed. As if that was any better.

Before him, the Armada emptied their blasters into the cave entrance to clear the way. The swift flyers banked off and circled around to transform, serving as the second attack wave while Megatron and the heavier builds began their furious charge.

Turn about being fair play in love and especially war, the Unicronians were caught completely unaware. The heavily-built Decepticons with their thick plating served as a protective barricade for the lighter flight warriors coming in behind them.

They hit the initial, hastily formed drone defense lines hard, battering through them, and the drones began to fall before the assault.

 

* * *

 

Optimus finally spotted the very small symbol, carved into the stone after the thousandth time he walked past it in his frustrated searching.

It looked weathered, and it was the Cybertronian word for ‘enter’. Optimus stared at it for a long time, confused. There was no cave entrance that he could see, no cracks in the wall, no arrows or other any other symbols to point in any particular direction.

Then he saw it.

The dirty ground had been moved relatively recently. It was mounded up oddly and looked different then the settled ground around it.

Inspiration struck, and Optimus started to dig.

 _There is a cave,_ realized Optimus. The entrance was just buried under the silt, pushed out from the inside to disguise it. _Ratchet must have buried himself into a low laying cave to avoid detection._

 _He has to be here!_   and that thought filled Optimus with sudden, wild excitement, as he reasoned that it would not still be covered. The Sweeps would have dug Ratchet out if they had found him. The ground and crevasse walls would have been a mess of cuts and slashes.

Optimus dug frantically until he felt a gust of air from the other side. Another few swipes of his hands and he finally broke through the dirt to the hidden cavity itself. _This is definitely a recessed cave,_ and he excavated and hauled at the grit until the hole was helm-sized.

“Ratchet?” He called into the space beyond. There was no response, and so he continued his frantic digging. _Who knows how large this cave is,_ he reasoned, using the thought as a balwark against the unnerving silence from inside. Finally he had dug down enough to work his body through, and stumbled inside. He turned on his headlights and looked around.

It was a thin, narrow passage, empty. But it continued around a bend not far ahead. It was large enough for two Cybertronians to walk though, shoulder to shoulder, though Optimus had to crouch a bit as the cave ceiling was very low.

Fine dust swirled in the light from his head lights, and Optimus called out again. There was no answer, and he settled himself and started walking down the passage, his spark lurching in a roiling amalgamation of hope and fear.

Optimus startled when his headlights revealed writing on the wall. He instinctively flinched, worried to find yet another set of coordinates, until he realized that the entire wall has been covered by writing.

They were medical transcriptions.

 _Ratchet must not have any functional data pads._ _I_ _will have to spare him a few._

Optimus looked over the writing and suddenly realized what he was seeing. The glyphs are clearly medical notes, the surgeon’s thoughts and concerns as he was mulling over how to deal with the slave coding. Diagrams of processors and their components coat the walls, having been written out from memory. The lines and glyphs have been neatly cut, with many little asides and notes here and there.

There was a disassembled head of a Sweep nearby, with scrawling glyphs all around it, noting the differences and the similarities. It was likely a lone scout Ratchet had managed to deactivate, and the drone’s helm components were open and carefully laid out and picked over.

The treatment options, concerns, and details were carved into the rock during the long, long hours Ratchet had spent hiding while waiting for his leader to return. The wall had acted as the data pad the medic hadn't had available; cataloging his thoughts as he had explored what he could do to help his leader.

 _There are roughly three options,_ Optimus realized from the notes. He scanned over them eagerly, though he barely understood the technical terms. The clearer summaries were listed off to the side from Ratchet’s more technical notes, carefully cut into the wall by his beloved medic with his medical scalpel.

Optimus could almost hear Ratchet’s calm voice and gruff wit in the cut of the glyphs around him.

The first option was a complete system wipe and recovery, using the last full mental scan Ratchet had on record in his internal systems. It would definitely work, but it would be utterly devastating. Optimus would regain the visual portion of his memories he had previously, but not the emotional connections he had linked to them. It would work, but it would emotionally cripple him, changing him irreparably and was not ideal by any means.

The second option was to try a transplant, removing the small part of his processor that housed the slave coding and replacing the component from one Ratchet had harvested from the dead Sweep. This should work, but the surgery was dangerous according to Ratchet’s notes, and the outcome was not for certain. It was unknown if his systems would reject the Unicronian part, and the result of that would be lethal.

The last option was to simply remove Optimus’ spark and graft it onto Ratchet’s own systems, and then safely bury his leader’s body until a better option for recovering him became available. It was obviously a last ditch effort to save him from being deactivated by the slave coding.

Optimus shook his helm, overwhelmed by the time and care Ratchet had spent worrying over him and his plight, and then turned and looked further down the tunnel for the medic himself. The passage continued down a ways, and then turned a corner. He started down the passage and around. It opened into a single, small space and then the cave ended.

And there stretched out, seemingly in recharge, was his old friend.

Optimus stared for a long, long moment at the mech laying so very quietly before him.

“… Ratchet?”

 

* * *

 

The darkness and silence remained perfect.

But it wasn't long before Starscream became aware of a commotion. It had started with heavy pounding of some kind. _Rumble, rumble, rumble_ came the heavy shuddering vibrations. He could feel the small vibrations of many hurried pedes, little impacts that reverberated through the ground. Starscream remained unworried, but then there was a massive vibration that shuddered the ground underneath Starscream’s legs in a very noticeable way, and many, many heavy thundering impacts hit the ground not far from him. The ground rumbled beneath his seated form as blasts of stale cave air, billowing with heavy dust and grit, wash over him and he started coughing to clear his intakes.

(Unknown to him, Soundwave and Rumble had performed their task to perfection. A number of Sweeps were buried beneath tons of crushing rubble from the carefully collapsed cave ceiling, while the area with the throne of stacked stones and the chained captive remained mostly clear.)

_Must be a cave in!_

Still coughing, Starscream wiped at his mouth and a moment later the grit in the air was cleared by the blowing rush of colder, cleaner air as it blasted down over him from above. _The roof is completely collapsed and I think I have a clear path to the sky!_

Starscream sat up straight with his wings frantically flared, feeling the flow of dirty and clean air swirling around him. Billowing puffs of dirty air from below (as the heavy rubble from the ceiling settled) now mingle with the cold drafts from above. The clean open air rushes around him, caressing his wings and his spark lifted.

_This is the opportunity I have been waiting for._

The roar settled after a long moment and then Starscream could feel the vibrations of running pedes nearby. _The Sweeps are probably in a panic from the collapsed ceiling, trying to dig the trapped drones out. I hope Galvatron is trapped somewhere._ His wings were buffeted by the waves of air that flooded over him in gusty ripples. He was certain there were mechs moving all around him. The movements and vibrations of pede steps seemed utterly frantic and aggressive. He smiled as all around him the bedlam progressed.

Struggling to his pedes, Starscream forced himself upward.

He braced most of his weight on his one good pede, standing tall and proud. Testing the air, he waited for a moment, letting his wings feel out the air currents. He paid close attention to the vibrations of the ground around him, surprised when no one bothered to touch him. Reaching out carefully, he slowly began to manually detach his wing blade. He made his movements as subtle as possible, not wanting to tip off any enemies watching him what he was up to until it would be too late. He had one shot with this, and if he failed he would most certainly lose his blade.

But the vibrations remained hurried, and still no one bothered with him. Finally the last little latch came free, and Starscream's lovely smile was back a moment later.

_...Well, then!_

_Seems like a perfect time to be on my way._

 

*** _  
_

 

“I see Starscream,” Onslaught reported his position over his internal comms to the rest of the Decepticon attackers.

“He’s down here next to me,” Swindle shouted back. “But something’s wrong with him! I don’t think his audials or visuals are working!”

“Air Commander!” Onslaught's harsh voice carried over the din of battle. “Can you hear me?”

Onslaught smashed through his Sweep opponent and stomped forward. He found himself fighting yet another drone and yelled at Starscream, still chained near a stacked pile of rocks that looked suspiciously like a throne. Starscream was standing motionless while surrounded by furiously battling forces. Swindle was struggling with a snarling Sweep, chest plates criss-crossed with slash marks from the last battle, and only barely keeping his opponent from adding to the tally.

Starscream was only a few feet away from the desperate scene, but remained motionless. Starscream's wings were twitching and rotating in an odd manner, and his gaze was unfocused, helm tilted back in concentration. His expression was contemplative as Swindle called out to him for help, but it was clear to anyone watching that Starscream was completely unaware of the nature of the carnage around him.

“Frag,” Onslaught snarled into his comms. “They've done something to him. His optics are off-line and he doesn’t appear to have functioning audials. Going to need someone to collect him, he isn’t leaving here on his own.”

The Combaticon commander snarled as a familiar mech broke through the carnage and charged him. Onslaught lunged to meet Cyclonus half way and they clashed, Cyclonus opening with a deep slash across Onslaught's already battered plating. Onslaught just snarled at him and redoubled his efforts.

Not far from Onslaught’s position, Megatron and Galvatron were mid battle, trading furious blows and threats. The two leaders had landed in a vicious tangle of thrashing metal, and Megatron had punched his counterpart, denting his nasal ridge. But Galvatron had scored a deep slash across Megatron's abdominals in the scuffle.

Galvatron had a deep burn wound from a point blank shot from Megatron's fusion cannon, having been shot out of the sky where he had taken refuge from the collapsing ceiling. Megatron had roared down upon him from above, and the wound was an excellent first strike, but Megatron had also taken innumerable slashes and several dreadful stab wounds, and now the two leaders were evenly wounded, evenly matched.

“Thundercracker! Skywarp! Get down there and get Starscream clear of this mess,” Megatron snapped into his internal comms as he grappled with Galvatron. He noted the new dents in Galvatron's interface plating and random - but very telling! - bite marks over his servos, and grinned at Galvatron while spitting out a mouthful of his own internal fluid.

“Having a little trouble with my Air Commander, are you?” Megatron smirked. He ignored the small streams of internal fluid running from his deep wounds. There wasn't time. It was all or nothing, now.

“Nothing that time and punishment will not mend,” Galvatron snapped back. The sparking of his burned and melted internal components from the fusion cannon pained him greatly and he aimed and fired a rapid shot from his own cannon in retaliation.

Megatron threw himself to the side and the shot went wide. “That has not been my experience,” he laughed as internal fluid dripped steadily from his nasal ridge and intakes. He wiped at his mouth in an off-handed motion and charged back towards Galvatron while extending his arm-mounted sword blade.

“Your efforts here are meaningless,” Galvatron snarled, unsheathing his own blade and lashing forward to meet the charge. “One cave is as good as any other, but your base cannot be so easily replaced. I have harmed you, damaged your fortress, and it is just a matter of time before there is nothing left of your army!”

“Not if I kill you first,” Megatron threatened back as he slashed at his opponent.

Galvatron took the blow and stumbled back at the force of it, then surged forward again. The ground was splattered with their combined internal fluids as they exchanged blow after brutal blow.

Megatron ducked to the side at Galvatron's next surge, and slipped his blade low and then harshly up, scoring a deep wound to his opponent's side, and then shoved Galvatron back and slashed at him again with his extended blade.

Galvatron caught the lashing blade with his own and forced it up, leaping forward and then re-grappling with his vicious opponent. He pushed in, pressing too close for bladed weapons to be useful, intending to crush his enemy with his bare servos.

“I am surprised you bothered to come at all,” snapped Galvatron, and his frustration that Megatron wasn't being so helpful as to lie down and die from his injuries escaped into his voice. “He is a dreadful consort. His vernacular is unspeakably vile.”

Megatron just laughed uproariously and lashed out at Galvatron’s pedes, unbalancing him. They grappled again, and Galvatron could taste Megatron's exhaustion from their intermingling EM fields, each tucked as close to clenched plating as possible. Megatron was clearly tiring, but Galvatron was also coming to the end of his easily processed energy.

"You are finished," Galvatron spat in Megatron's face, his adversary no less regal for the internal fluid splattered and dripping down his battered frame. "Surrender your forces to me and I will allow you to leave with your life!"

"Never," snarled Megatron as he held his ground, setting his pedes and ignoring the damage warnings and alerts pinging in his HUD.

There was something burning in his vocalizer, glinting like knives in his harsh eyes and it reflected in his fields. It was strength of the sort that could move mountains, reinforced by a churning, nameless force manifest with its two faces; a soft touch when wrapped around a precious other, fierce and unyielding when riled to face down this threat in defense of his companions.

"I am not leaving without my **jet** ," Megatron roared.

Standing there, staring into those harsh eyes, Galvatron hesitated for the feel of his enemy, concerned he'd misjudged his counterpart.

Then there was a sudden roar of vibrant flight engines exploding into full throttle, as Starscream took to the air. He was holding his wing blade aloft and Skywarp and Thundercracker were right behind him.

 

***

_It is now or never._

_This is my best chance to escape._

Starscream snapped his weapon free and extended his wing blade. Powering up his thrusters, he floated a few inches off the ground, relieved to take his weight off his broken pede. The throb eased a little. Then he felt swift movements around him, breaths of air brushing over his beautiful wings. Reacting instantly, he slashed out in a wild, harsh swirling cut in a circle all around him. He could feel the pursuing mechs around him fall back.

Starscream lifted and violently dropped his blade across his chains, the hit announced with a furious clatter he couldn’t hear. The force of the hit sliced the chains binding him. He felt them rattle over his plating and fall free, and then he jolted when he was grabbed by two sets of cautious servos.

He snarled as they tried to pull him upwards. He could tell they were concerned from the feel of their EM fields when they grabbed him, but he didn't recognize the touch. He assumed they were worried of handling him and he smirked; the drones were right to feel wary from the way he had terrorized those that had wandered too close to him on his tether.

Starscream kicked out furiously. Fighting them, he broke free and gunning his thrusters, clearing the cave ceiling and breaking out into the open air. The harsh open wind hit him then, strong and clean, along with the faintest kiss of warmth... the feel of sunlight glimmering across his plating.

_I can feel the sun._

His spark flared within him; a rush of exhilaration. His spark beat increased and his sparkling danced in delight at the increase in tempo, not understanding the reasons. Innocent and merely joyful at the happy rhythm of the carrier's essence.

Then Starscream shrieked his triumph into the darkness and silence.

“I am a Prince of Vos!” he boasted at his pursuers. “The sky is my domain! You have made a critical mistake, Unicronians!”

Starscream felt an open palm hit the small of his back strut in frustration and he whirled and punched the mech in the face plates as the two of them struggled with him in midair. He took a moment to lash out with his wing blade, scoring a direct hit, and then fired his thrusters full throttle. There was a further rush of whipping wind as he dragged them higher up into the sky.

“You should have never let me back into the air!” Starscream kicked free of the two frames trying to control him and then added his turbines to his thrusters, leaving his pursuers cursing in the wake of his contrails.

***

 

"He slagging cut me," Skywarp howled. He clutched at the bleeding slash in his wing, faltering as the pain made it difficult to fly.

"'Screamer can't see or hear!" Thundercracker yelled back at his trine mate in frustration. "He doesn't know it's us!"

"I can't fly like this," Skywarp hissed into the trine's internal comms as Thundercracker darted after Starscream. "Keep up with him, I am heading back down to help the others!"

"On it," Thundercracker snapped. He was rapidly catching up to Starscream, who was flying hindered by the wing blade he still clutched tightly in his servo, instead of re-attaching it to his flight array.

Starscream's plating was flared in aggressive excitement and Thundercracker knew to be wary of that sharp wing blade. Starscream couldn't tell friend from foe, and he had partially attained his position as second in command through his skill with that very blade.

Skywarp dropped back down towards the fighting, catching sight of a wounded Onslaught struggling with Cyclonus. Onslaught was losing his battle with the sub-commander, and fell back gasping as Cyclonus reared back to deliver a killing blow.

Disappearing from the overhead sky with a _wharp,_ Skywarp reappeared back down in the thick of the fighting, right behind the seemingly victorious Cyclonus. One careful, vicious shot into Cyclonus' back plating changed the score of that fight, and Onslaught surged forward with a wild grin as Cyclonus whirled towards the attacking Skywarp with a cry of shock and pain.

 

***

"No!" Galvatron roared as Starscream leapt into the air.

Galvatron turned to try and give chase. But as he turned after his escaping captive, Megatron's blade lunged for him. It would have been a lethal blow, but Galvatron deflected it just in time, and was forced to refocus all of his attention defending himself from his enemy, one that _refused_ to allow him to interfere with the rescue in progress.

Sparks flew and billow around them at the furious scrape and clash of their blades. Strike after furious strike landed across Megatron's blade, but there was no give, no quarter, and he matched Galvatron blow for vicious blow.

In the thrashing delay, the Seekers crested the edge of the cave and roared up and out to freedom. Galvatron watched them escape with a snarl of frustration, still grappling furiously with Megatron, who refused to do the polite thing and just _die._ He hissed and then turned to regard the bleeding, vicious face plates of his counterpart.

“Perhaps it is for the best.” Galvatron muttered to himself in deep disappointment. He scowled in defeat as the last sounds of vibrant flight engines faded... as Starscream and his sparkling soar away to safety. "It _was_ an altogether unpleasant experience."

Megatron blinked at him. _What had Starscream done to him?_

“The future is very…shrill.” Galvatron said cryptically, and then abruptly tore away.

Megatron stared after him in confusion for a moment, and then stumbled forward to give chase. His pede slipped instead, slick from his internal fluids, and he went down to one knee as Galvatron disappeared into the bedlam, shouting orders for Cyclonus to gather the Sweeps and withdraw.

"Cyclonus!" Galvatron roared out as he fled. "Where are you?"

Megatron scowled after him, but had to stop and rest. The fight had taken nearly everything out of him. He subspaced a small cauterizing blade. His internal fluid levels were in flux due to low pressure, and with a groan he set to work cauterizing his wounds as best he could.

Megatron shook his helm, wincing and flinching at the sizzle and burn as he worked, but satisfied to see the Sweeps were trying to disengage and flee after their master. He subspaced several cubes of energon and downed them quickly. Wiping his intakes, his pedes were already a little steadier, and he focused on the steady crackle of shouts and noise through his comms. Taking in the situation, his booming voice cut through the chatter as he ordered his troops to regroup as soon as possible to a location a mile away.

"I have cornered Cyclonus, and he is unable to fly," Onslaught reported over the comms. He was coughing, intakes heaving from the damage he had taken, but still functional. "What do we do with him?"

"Soundwave," Megatron answered, "deal with the captive. We could use him if he will swear loyalty to me, and he may be useful as a hostage against Galvatron if not, but I leave this to your best judgement." Soundwave nodded from across the battlefield and strode towards Onslaught's position.

Thundercracker's frantic voice broke through his comms, reporting that Starscream was still blind and had injured him. He was asking for help as he couldn't keep up with Starscream due to injury.

"Thundercracker," Megatron ordered, "Disengage, I will deal with Starscream myself. Soundwave, I want a ping with the Air Commander's location every half breem." He heard the monotone voice answer in the affirmative, and set out to reclaim Starscream moments later.

 

* * *

 

Starscream couldn't feel his pursuers.

And yet he knew the Sweeps were there, were chasing after him, and he could feel them right behind him. He could feel their occasional attempts to grab hold of him as he maneuvered through the air, fingertips grazing along his metal. He grinned as they were no real match for him, and flew up as high as he could to get some altitude.

Irritated, Starscream cut his flight engines to conserve energy and extended his wing blade as he dropped in free fall. He activated his thrusters only and felt one lunge at him, the mech's servos grazing his plating again and he started slashing. He hit from side to side, right and left, fighting furiously from the stratosphere all the way to the ground.

Within mere feet of the ground as warned by the back drafts coming at him, Starscream fired up the turbines in his legs and flew out and back upwards. He wasn't sure but he was certain some of his strikes had damaged his pursuers.

Starscream moved relatively slowly as the wing blade in his servos was part of his flight array and would have to be re-attached before he could properly fly at speed. But he was unsure if he was still being followed, and so kept his blade in hand and at the ready.

Instead, Starscream fired his thrusters and regained his altitude and flew as quickly as he could to put as much distance between himself and his enemies. He oriented himself in relation to the position of the weak sun, the faint warmth licking along the lit edges of his wings. His clever processors work out the general direction of the Decepticon base using the sun as a guide, and he began to drift towards Decepticon territory as quickly as possible.

Starscream flew for some time, his blade at the ready, but there were no further attacks. After some time, he felt it was safe to descend. He slowly began to lower himself towards the ground, wanting to stop to properly reattach his blade and see if he could find one of the many crude streams of fuel. He felt his fuel tanks getting low, and it was worrying him.

The fluttering remained strong, thankfully.

Starscream dropped lower and lower, skimming along the ground in a much slower flight, paying keen attention to the back drafts and every gust of wind. He had no way to know how far he had gone, only the general direction of the Decepticon base in relation to the direction the Unicronians had flown when they had stolen him away. His plan currently involved flying in the appropriate direction and then circling until he was picked up by one of the roving Armada patrols.

 _I had better hurry,_ thought Starscream. He would need to get back before it grew too late, or he would miss the last patrol. He had an emergency thermal blanket but he was worried about facing nightfall alone, blind and deaf.

Finally Starscream felt what he was looking for; a smoother feeling to the wind hitting him. He carefully lowered himself until he was standing on the ground on his one good pede, heel-deep in proto-fuel. He held his wing blade carefully in his servo and waited, but there was no interruption. Just to be safe, he decided to hold on to it a little longer.

Finally, Starscream knelt down and filled his fuel tanks. His sparkling was still fluttering happily, and he reached out and touched his abdominals with joyful satisfaction. "See, didn't I say I was going to get out of this?" he said while throwing his helm back, standing tall and proud and triumphant. "I always do."

But Starscream's smile vanished an instant later when a heavy servo ripped his wing blade right out of his hand.

 

* * *

 

Soundwave stood over the injured Cyclonus, and carefully explained his situation to him.

Cyclonus, bleeding severely from multiple deep wounds inflicted by Onslaught and Skywarp, followed his words gravely, and his answer was unsurprising. "I will never leave Lord Galvatron's side," he said proudly, his expression grim.

Soundwave frowned at him, the telepath picking up deep and intriguing mental eddies surrounding those otherwise resolute words. "You will never, or _can_ never leave his side?" Soundwave questioned, watching Cyclonus' expression as complex emotions and thoughts race across the ancient warrior's mind.

Cyclonus scowled back and refused to answer, but the truth was behind his optics, the lurid whispering urging him to find his master. Soundwave couldn't hear the slave coding's whispers, but he could hear Cyclonus' response to them. Soundwave could feel how much Cyclonus hated his forced servitude to his callous, wretched master.

Soundwave frowned, remembering Prime and the scene on the communal wash racks floor with the Armada. The fever and the eventual death that resulted for a code slave separated from his master was cruel and utterly without honor; inappropriate for such an honorable opponent as this mech. But there was no real freedom the Decepticons could offer Cyclonus to encourage him to switch sides, no escape from the slave coding.

Not only that, but the sub-commander's backwards notion of honor would keep him from admitting to his situation or bending his knee and accepting Megatron as leader and asking for mercy. The result of this refusal would be captivity in chains, followed by an eventual death by code fever. A pathetic, dishonorable death by fever would certainly be Cyclonus' fate if he was taken back to the Decepticon base in this state.

There was also a good possibility that Lord Megatron would be offended by his enemy's refusal to bend his knee in his defeat. If Megatron decided to order Cyclonus tethered for communal use as he had the captive Sweeps, the resulting attacks during a fever state would be unimaginably unkind to this otherwise honorable enemy.

Lord Megatron was not known for showing mercy to his sworn enemies, with one lone exception ... and even that one was questionable in Soundwave's estimation. He was glad they had not found Prime.

"Situation unfortunate," Soundwave intoned sympathetically. He subspaced his emergency blaster and thumbed off the safety, cycling the weapon to its highest setting.

Cyclonus said nothing, his eyes intense.

Taking careful aim, Soundwave used his best judgement and pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Megatron landed at Starscream's location only moments after Starscream.

He found himself impressed by how well his Air Commander was handling himself, even as hindered as Starscream was by what the Unicronians had done to him. He watched as Starscream carefully felt around with his pedes, feeling out the ground, and coming to stand in the shallow, slow flowing fluid of a small proto-fuel stream.

Megatron moved softly so as to not startle his blind jet, and walked out into the stream of proto-fuel. He knelt down and filled his own tanks, watching Starscream carefully as he drank thirstily, gulping in the fuel after cupping handfuls in his deceptively delicate looking servos. They shared a one sided but very companionable moment together, leader and sub-commander only frame lengths from each other, fueling quietly.

Then Starscream straightened, and laid a hand on his abdominals and announced triumphantly, "See, didn't I say I was going to get out of this? ...I always do."

Megatron snorted at the confidant tones, as if Starscream had been solely responsible for his own rescue. He shook his helm and wiped at his nasal ridge again, as it was still leaking. Drops of his internal fluid dripped down and splashed into the flowing crude around his pedes. He had managed to get his wounds under control, but he was fortunate Hook was still alive, even if he was only questionably functional.

Without medical attention in the near future, Megatron knew he wouldn't be functional in a matter of days. Some of his wounds were simply too deep, and he would require medical attention soon to retain his life. But he was an old soldier and shrugged off his injuries. He could rest easy once this capricious, boastful jet of his was safely back to base and his senses were restored to him.

Megatron pushed away a deep sense of worry for his quieter berth mate, needing to focus on the more troublesome lover within his reach first.

Approaching carefully, Megatron watched as Starscream blindly turned his wing blade over in his grip, preparing to re-attach it to his flight array. He knew better then to allow that, as there would be no catching Starscream in the air with most of the Armada injured tonight. He edged closer, moving stealthily towards Starscream. Then he stepped forward and lunged, snatching the wing blade and throwing it across his own back plates for safe keeping.

"I will not be taking any further stab wounds on your behalf today," Megatron joked companionably to his stunned-looking jet, well aware that Starscream couldn't hear him.

***

 

Starscream snarled as his wing blade was taken from him, and leapt into the air an instant later. He reoriented himself within moments, using the fading warmth of the weak sunlight and turned toward Decepticon territory, gunning his engine as hard as he could. He had no doubt that the heavy, strong grip he had felt brush his servo could only belong to Galvatron.

 _Fragger survived the cave in,_ thought Starscream with disgust.

"Frag you," Starscream shrieked over his shoulder at the mech that was doubtlessly pursuing him. "Frag you to the pit! I am not spending another night in your stupid cave with your useless slagging aft!"

Starscream felt powerful servos try and grab him and whirled, artfully flipping himself over the helm of his larger opponent. He aimed a kick from his good pede at the helm as it roared past. Starscream frowned in disappointment when his pursuer ducked as if he was expecting the underhanded move. Then he hissed as a pair of arms tried to wrap around him again, startled at how fast the other mech had recovered.

Galvatron was on the ball tonight, much to Starscream's intense ire.

Starscream artfully dodged another grab, ducking under this time, contorting downwards as the other mech vaulted over him, fingertips grazing the soft white plating of his wings. Again and again he darted and swooped and whirled, locked in a graceful dance with his aggressive pursuer.

 _Too fast,_ Starscream hissed to himself. _He is moving too fast. Can't keep ahead of him..._

Starscream twisted around then, rolling his body out of the grip and kicked out again, momentarily forgetting his injured pede in his panic. To his credit he remembered a fraction of an instant before his strong hit landed, and his scream of pain as his wounded pede connected was very strangled and subdued. It sent a wave of furious pain through him and he hissed and hissed in rage.

 _Alright that was just stupid,_ his clever mind advised him, and he cursed again. _Focus, idiot._

Then the heavy body landed a solid grip and hauled him back. The grip was strong and fierce and controlling. The war build wrapped around him, pulling him forward to face the other and holding him tightly to his warm plating. Two large servos twisted both of his arms around behind his body.

"Oh frag you," Starscream snarled at the heavy build, and bashed his helm into the face plates of the mech trying to control him again, just as one servo encompassed both wrists, leaving the other free to wrap more carefully around him. He continued to thrash in the arms of the other mech.

"I am sick of your stupid slag!"

But the grip was unyielding, and the other mech responded by head butting Starscream right back. The hit was harsh and powerful as well as completely unexpected, and Starscream fell back, stunned. He was used to being handled with restraint and so the hit was entirely unexpected. It was as if the mech holding on to him had forgotten (or was _entirely_ unaware) he was carrying.

"Forgot you were going to let me keep it," Starscream snarled in the other mech's face plates, "Did you?" He felt confusion ripple across the field of the other warbuild, but the body felt familiar to him, very familiar. His mind was pinging warnings at him, but he was too upset to listen and his pede was _throbbing._

 _I am going to lose this one tonight if I don't stop,_ Starscream realized as his mind pressed the thought as the most important concern he had right now. He just couldn't break Galvatron's iron grip. _I don't want to lose this one, it's special._

The fluttering would have agreed, but there was still no worries from his sparkling. Flutter, flutter, flutter, was the only forthcoming response from the unborn, who was too busy having a wonderful time to be worried about anything other then how many successive bounces could be managed in a row. Lots and lots and lots, was the official answer to this clearly very important endeavor.

Starscream squirmed again, but the grip was very powerful and he just couldn't break it. He found himself overcome with frustration. He'd nearly made it to Decepticon territory and he really, really didn't want to spend another night in the Unicronian's joke of a base. But there was a good chance he would lose his newspark to fuel deprivation if he continued to struggle without the hope of energon at the end of his flight. He realized with a sinking spark that he had best stop now if he couldn't break the controlling grip.

That didn't mean he had to be _nice_ about it.

 _This bastard is going to wish he could shut off his audials by the time I am done with him,_ Starscream thought hatefully and launched into a full-fledged aft reaming. Wings flaring, he let said bastard have it.

 **“Frag you.** No, I take that back. Forget fragging you. Not only because you can’t find your spike with both servos, but also because you aren’t even a third the size of my real leader. Frankly, I am ashamed to be seen with you.”

It was a lie, but Galvatron didn’t know that. The arms wrapped around him twitched, and then the mech took to the air with Starscream squirming but firmly under control.

“I wanted you to know,” Starscream continued hatefully to the hulk dragging him back into more stupid captivity “-and pay attention because this is important-" and then Starscream let lose with the most vile stream of epithets he had in his considerable arsenal of insults. It was a spark-crushingly brutal belittling of every aspect of his captor, from his appalling mental abilities, inability to properly frag, and endless physical inadequacies.

Starscream leaned in and gave Galvatron his most lovely smile. “Oh, and your face plate is ugly too.”

"-and so you know I mean it when I say that I would rather be welded to Megatron’s _aft plating_ for the rest of my sorry existence then spend another instant as your consort!”

***

 

“Soundwave!” Megatron roared into his internal comm, “Tell me you recorded that! Tell me!”

“Apologies, Lord Megatron,” Soundwave’s apologetic monotone spilled into his comms. “Internal heating systems installation is priority-“

“Bah!”

“Lord Megatron," Soundwave offered carefully, "I have checked with Hook. Due to proximity to Starscream’s processor and Construction’s continued instability, I can reboot Starscream’s visual and auditory systems myself.”

“Fine, fine," Megatron snapped, still a little irritated. "I have him under control. We will be inbound shortly.”

“Affirmative.”

Megatron cut the connection and returned his attention to his furious, squirming jet. _Now how best to break the news to him..._

Inspiration hit, and Megatron loosened the servo not currently holding Starscream's wrists and reached out and grabbed a twitching white wing. He felt Starscream stiffen, but he only tugged on it, moving and twitching the sensitive panel in wing-speak, carefully flicking his response using Starscream's own wing.

_Glad to hear that I finally meet with your complete approval. Now quit squirming you sissy little jet._

That did it.

Megatron was beyond satisfied when Starscream jolted stiffly and shrieked in horror.

 

***

 

Starscream shrieked in horror as the truth crashed down over him, along with a deep sense of total relief.

Then Starscream was snarling at his pit-spawned glitch of a leader, asking why he hadn't said something sooner as Megatron loosened his grip and flipped Starscream up to rest more comfortably into his arms. He felt Megatron squeeze him close, pulling his head up to rest against his cheek plating in a clear gesture of affection and for once Starscream didn't mind the soft edges that were showing once again.

The heavy body shook above him, and Starscream knew it was in laughter. Megatron was _laughing in his audial._ He could tell.

“Oh frag me. Frag me to the pit.”

The shaking continued (Megatron couldn't stop laughing in a mix of amusement, relief, and giddiness from unspeakable amounts of fluid loss).

“Galvatron threw Prime over the central abyss," Starscream reported solemnly, wanted to get the proper lies in place as quickly as possible. "I have no idea if he could have survived the fall. Also. You can put me down now. I can fly in your wake trail. I am disgusting.”

And Starscream really felt disgusting. His lower body was covered in… bleh. The rest of him was covered in … more bleh. But the arms wrapped around him did not loosen, but tightened instead.

 

***

Megatron scowled down at him.

“No, you sorry glitch. You are without audial or visuals, and I can tell you are low on fuel. Oh, and your pede is broken. Apparently I will be carrying your pitiful aft home, myself. _Again.”_

Megatron lowered his face plates until his ex-vents were close enough to swirl over Starscream’s battered lip plating. Lips parted, slightly, as Megatron considered stealing back the kiss Starscream had stolen from him many, many nights ago.

Starscream glowered at him, blind and deaf and tired and filthy, but fully aware of the implications of the soft puffs swirling over his lip plating.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you even dare…”

But he did.

 

* * *

 

Optimus finally made it to the surface while gently carrying Ratchet’s cold, forlorn frame.

He hauled himself and Ratchet over the edge and onto open ground, steadying himself on his pedes. He had carried his old friend for a while after that, numb to his deepest places, until he had found a likely spot to rest, in the lee of a large stone formation.

The realization that he was the only one left alive fully hit as he sank down the ground, with his dearest friend still resting in his arms. Following in the wake of that devastating thought was the realization he had nothing left to live for. He'd really thought Ratchet would still be alive. The old medic was clever and experienced; a hardened survivor. But this planet was unmerciful to an extreme, and a lone mech could not expect to survive for long.

 _He did survive,_ Optimus realized. _He held out for a long time on his own._

Deactivation had been through cold, a quiet creeping killer, but mercifully quick. Ratchet had jury rigged a stove of sorts using parts from a lone Sweep scout he had managed to kill. It had been sufficient for some time, but either he had run out of fuel in the middle of the night without realizing it, or the cold had simply overwhelmed the small heat source, there was no way to know.

 _Ratchet offlined in recharge,_ he thought, though the relief of that was fleeting. Ratchet's passing had been quiet and painless, from the soft expression still lingering on the gray lip plates, and that was the only comfort to be found.

Optimus hadn’t realized how much of his spark he'd staked on the hope of finding him alive. Ratchet had always been special to him. The agony he felt while holding his dearest friend was worse than anything he had ever suffered.

The solution to all of his problems slowly built in his mind while he watched the weak sun cross overhead. There was a line in the dark sand, and he was on the wrong side of it, with every one of his mechs he ever knew or loved having already crossed over.

Optimus reached out with a cold servo and rested it on his chest plate, right over the space within him that the matrix used to lay. It was gone now, sacrificed in the battle against Unicron the Destroyer, but the connection to the Beyond remained intact. All around him, the ghosts of his beloved Autobots floated and flickered, beautiful candles in the sea of the ether, that eternal place flowing just out of perception of the living.

 _We are here,_ they whispered, _We are waiting._

Ratchet lay patiently in his arms, unjudging, and yet somehow still resolute in his unfailing support. As the weak sun started to dip down towards the far horizon, Optimus finally acted on his decision. He resigned himself to his fate with a deep in-vent, but it was the only solution he could see to his situation. Peace was not long in coming as he had foreseen this possibility and had already embraced it.

First Optimus reached into the back of his own intakes and pushed at the metal there. Within moments he doubled over and purged his fuel tanks of their meager contents. Low fuel warnings started flashing in his internal display.

He shut them off.

... and then he started digging.

He could feel the fever returning. The sick heat was starting to fester as it wandered through his protoform. His mind kept returning to the chess set. They never had the chance to play, and some small part of him wondered if that might have made a difference.

Then he shook away his kinder thoughts. His spark hardened in its chamber at the memory-files of all of the forced interfacing and the unwanted touches and withering comments during his captivity. There was a chance things could eventually be better between them, but for all the forced interactions, there was no way he could return to Megatron. He was unwilling to live the rest of his life on his back plates as a slave for the satisfaction of his owner, no matter how much the mech may have loved his presence.

Optimus searched his spark but could find no faith in the future. He knew that Megatron would surely uncover Starscream’s little gambit this time. He knew he had given too much ground while trying to escape... played his part as a dutiful slave and Megatron had deeply enjoyed him... far too much to ever loosen his iron grip. If recaptured now, there would be no further chances to escape.

And so Optimus kept digging, and the hole in the gritty sand grew slowly and steadily deeper. Lost in his whirling thoughts, he nearly missed the small noise behind him. There was the slightest of rustles, and he whirled to face the threat that had been steadily creeping up behind him.

Razorclaw was behind him, crouched low.

“Back off, Predacon," and here Optimus dropped into a combat stance as his eyes blazed threat, "We have battled before, and you will not be winning this match, either.”

Razorclaw clenched his teeth, but once revealed, it seemed he wasn’t that keen on a fight. Optimus was surprised to see him actually back off as ordered. He took a moment to study the other mech. The cat was covered in scratches and cuts, his optics were dull, and his paint dismal and peeling. He didn’t look good.

Returning his measuring stare, Razorclaw's eyes flicked over to the grayed body lying out on the cold ground. It was very clear what solemn duty the Prime was engaged in. The cat considered him for a moment, and then settled down on his haunches and dropped his head in cautious amenability. A long moment of silence stretched between them as Optimus didn’t trust the Predacon not to interfere.

Razorclaw broke it first.

“I am returning to Megatron.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

“Good for you.” Optimus couldn’t care less what Razorclaw was up to, so long as he was left in peace. He kept an optic on the mechanical lion, but returned to his digging in silence. Night was falling, and he didn’t have time to waste on a rogue Decepticon.

But Razorclaw seemed compelled to speak.

“I lost Rampage to the Sweeps this morning. Too damned many of them and he was overwhelmed… they butchered him. I couldn’t keep them from dragging him away.” His tail flicked in deep disquiet. Decepticons don’t get attached. Or at least that is what they tell themselves.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Optimus said evenly, but he wasn’t, not really. His spark was too full of anguish for his own beloved dead, and there was no room for any more pain. There was no one left alive to protect and he was finished.

“He was the last of my pack.” And there was the problem, summed up in a simple sentence. Razorclaw was a survivalist, Optimus knew, and no one will last long out in the wilds by themselves. Razorclaw was alone now, and it was going to be the death of him.

“I know the feeling.” He really did.

Then Optimus heard Razorclaw approach, the light and powerful paws with their razor claws sinking slightly into the soft grit, and Optimus shot him a warning look. There would be no mercy tonight if Razorclaw intended to start anything.

But he didn’t.

Razorclaw just padded quietly up next to Optimus, and then began to help him dig the grave. His thick paws with their harsh claws part the gritty sand with ease, and the grave grew deeper and deeper as the meager sunlight continued to wane.

 _Shared grief can make for unusual alliances,_ Optimus thought, though he warily watched Razorclaw from the corner of his optics. When it was deep enough, Razorclaw retreated, standing back and silent.

Then Optimus lovingly lifted Ratchet's gray frame and placed his beloved medic on his side deep into the ground. Stepping down, he hesitated and then stood up to his chest plates in the grave, contemplating how he would be covering them both. He hadn’t actually thought about that, and the deeper intent became clear to Razorclaw, who was still watching from a respectful distance.

“I will take care of it if you want," Razorclaw offered. "I will be coming back later to eat you, anyway.”

Optimus’ dim plating flared and he was offended for a moment, but realized that it really wouldn’t matter. Desecration of the dead was a pain suffered by the living. There was no one left alive on this planet that would give a rusty bolt about the sanctity of his remains.

“You had better wait until I am dead, Predacon,” Optimus growled his only concern, “Or you will join me in this grave.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise, and Razorclaw inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 _At least there will be no chance of our frames being claimed by Sweeps,_ and that was another concern that hadn’t occurred until now.

Two problems solved, Optimus slid down into the bottom of the grave and wrapped himself comfortably around his beloved companion. He spooned Ratchet’s cold body, his front to the medic’s back, and laid his helm on Ratchet’s. He subspaced a large, thick rag and wrapped it around both of their helms, a small mercy so that he could continue to ventilate and not choke on the sand that was starting to pour down upon them, safely entombing Ratchet and burying him alive.

As the sand above him grew heavier, Optimus began shivering both in cold and as his need for Megatron’s body manifested in the fever in his protoform. The hateful slave coding whispered to him over and over to return to his master.

He knew he wouldn’t survive the coming night for the cold, and now his empty fuel tanks would only hurry along that lethal advance, but Megatron had told him to keep his mind and his will to fight. Megatron had ordered Optimus not to kill himself, true, but he _wasn’t_ killing himself. The devil remained in the details, as the cold would do that for him, freezing the remaining energon and lubricants in his body and rupturing his fuel lines.

He hated the vile whispering and he assured the coding that he was just taking shelter with his old friend during the night. Of course he would return to Megatron in the morning for punishment. He was a good slave. He whispered to the coding over and over that he would return to Megatron in the morning.

_In the morning. I will go back in the morning and beg for forgiveness. I will accept my punishment like a good slave._

He whispered the words until the coding finally went quiet. He knew deep down that he would not survive the night, but didn't think about it. With nothing incriminating at the surface layer it so aggressively patrolled, the code’s whispers finally calmed even as his fever grew worse and worse.

Ignoring his discomfort, Optimus focused instead on his dear friend in his arms and lost himself in memories of better times, better places, when he was surrounded by his precious Autobots.

 

* * *

 

The Decepticon Supreme Commander was in a dreadful mood tonight.

Seated on his throne, Megatron was brooding while holding the queen chess piece and idly playing with it, turning it over and over in his fingers. The little figure was hand-carved, beautifully created. It seemed a promise, one left unfulfilled.

Starscream stood off at his customary place at Megatron's left, all patched up and back to his snarky self. Soundwave had restored his audials and HUD to full function while rebooting his processor and thankfully there had been no damage. He was relieved for Soundwave's interjection; he'd been frightened that Hook would have been allowed near his processors and his secret could have been revealed.

Thankfully Soundwave was keeping his word and said nothing.

Starscream had already finished his verbal report, but hadn't felt like leaving. Instead he stayed near his pit-spawned leader, and Megatron didn’t question it. He heard Megatron huff again and rolled his optics. He started debating with himself whether or not it would be worth the beating to tell his dejected leader to mech up and quit fretting.

 _It makes him look pathetic, moping after an Autobot like this._ But Starscream decided against it, and instead caught himself idly rubbing at his abdominals, as the fluttering feeling was stronger tonight. He dropped his hands to his sides, nervous. He really needed to be more careful.

 _Can’t get attached,_ and even as Starscream reminded himself of that for the millionth time, in his spark he knew it was too late. Then a sharper sensation startled him, and he blinked.

 _Was that … a kick?_ Starscream blinked again. Yep, definitely a solid hit. _Nice! … He definitely takes after his sire._ Completely forgetting himself, Starscream poked at his abdominals, tapping lightly at the spot near all the commotion. Another solid hit came in response. At least this sparkling was strong.

_I really felt that last one. He is definitely getting stronger. And bigger._

Starscream twitched again at the tiny touch, and then he remembered himself and dropped his hands again. Nervously smoothing over his face plates, he glanced over at Megatron. Glorious Leader hadn’t noticed his amused little expressions and twitches, thankfully.

 _Going to need a name,_ Starscream mused, his relaxed mind returning to happier thoughts. Unbidden, his servos returned to his abdominals. _Best wait to see what you look like._

 _I hope you look like me,_ Starscream thought dreamily. _With nice wings,_ his mind added. _I wonder what color you are. Silver or white maybe. Red probably. Maybe. We both have red on our frames. Red eyes for sure ... can’t wait to teach you to fly._

Starscream suddenly realized his hands are back on his abdominals and he frowned at himself, dropped his hands again. He flicked another glance at Megatron and then relaxed. His leader was tracing the lines of the strange little figure in his fingers, and was still not paying attention.

 _Too busy being pathetic. By the maker I wish I could afford to kill you,_ and Starscream scowled again at the look of deep misery on his leader’s face plates. _He isn’t even remembering to try and hide it. Primus! Enough already with the moping! Prime is gone and that is that! This is pitiful._

_I wish I didn’t need to be so careful now. All it would take is a few good insults to get his mind off it…and I could use a good, hard spiking tonight. Really shouldn’t though._

Starscream frowned down at his abdominals. _You are making things difficult for me._

The kicking only increased. _Don’t care. Too busy having fun._

Starscream’s bright red optics grew unfocused again. _Uppity little… jet? I hope you are a jet._

Next to him, Megatron quietly sighed.

***

 

“Lord Megatron.”

Announcing himself, Onslaught approached, looking pleased.

Megatron perked up, hopeful that his news was about a certain lost Autobot. He felt a flash of disappointment when he realized that will not be what this audience was about. He could see what the missile carrier was so pleased over. For padding along behind him - head dropped in submission - was his rogue Predacon. Razorclaw wasn't bound and not causing any trouble, and Megatron smiled triumphantly. "Ahh, Razorclaw. I see you have returned to me, as I knew you would.”

Onslaught stepped to the side, and let Razorclaw approach Megatron, still sprawled over his throne.

“Lord Megatron,” Razorclaw said as he transformed and immediately dropped to his knees. “I have come to beg for your mercy and your pardon. I was a fool to leave your command, and I return to serve you.”

A long moment passed as Megatron considered the plea carefully, the fingers on his right hand tapping on the armrest of his throne. Razorclaw had been one of his generals in the Great War, and knew how to approach and what words to say to best appease his old leader. _Still… best not let him back so easily,_ Megatron decided, no matter how much his experience and ferocity was needed by his faction. It would not do to seem desperate for soldiers.

“You expect to simply walk back into my domain, starving, with your hand held out?” Megatron snarled, baring his denta. Beside him, Starscream dropped his hands to his hips and smirked, clearly enjoying watching someone else get slapped around by glorious leader.

“No, Lord. I would never return to you empty handed.” With that Razorclaw reached into his subspace, and threw out an array of heads, a count of five sweeps in all, and Megatron leaned forward in spite of himself.

“Your enemies, my Lord. I beg you allow me to destroy them, in your name, for the glory of the Decepticon Empire.”

Yes, Razorclaw really did know how best to please his leader. Megatron leaned back, settling down into his throne. “Excellent. I see your claws remain as sharp as ever.” Now if only he had brought Megatron what he actually wanted…

“Unfortunate he did not return with Prime in tow.” Starscream couldn’t resist poking at his leader’s obvious… melancholy.

Megatron frowned at him querulously. Then he noticed Starscream was worrying at his abdominals again. Obviously he must still be injured from Galvatron’s attack and his time spent in captivity. He knew that Starscream would never allow the glitching medic to hard-line in to him and would even stoop to hiding injuries to avoid invasive medical care.

 _I will ask Soundwave to drag him to the medbay for an exam tomorrow,_ Megatron decided. _And authorize him to sit on Starscream’s pretty aft if I have to until Hook finds out what is wrong._

 _I am not losing this one too,_ he told himself. Clearly something was wrong. And whatever was wrong was going to be fixed. He was too upset to tangle with Starscream right now. Hopefully Prime would come to his senses and return soon. The waiting was making his tanks churn and driving him up the wall with anxiety.

“Optimus Prime?” Razorclaw perked up at that, realizing he had even more to offer his old leader. “You are looking for him? Well, consider this my second contribution to the cause then, because you don’t have to worry about that sack of scrap anymore.”

Heads snapped up and Razorclaw suddenly realized he had everyone’s full attention.

 

* * *

 

Time passed.

The temperature continued to drop.

With only one warm body, the ground around him turned quietly murderous, sapping heat from the frame in its embrace instead of retaining it, warmth he could no longer replace as his fuel lines approach empty.

Optimus Prime slowly relaxed as the shackles that bound him to the corporeal world began to loosen.

An insubstantial hand whispered across his plating then, lighting on his shoulder. In life it had been red, a force of comfort and healing.

A second hand joined the first, and this one would have been black, followed by a lazy smile and endless cheery jokes.

Another, and then another, and few became many. This beloved being that had touched so many with his kindness, his compassion, and his endless patience would not be crossing to the Afterspark alone.

All around and throughout the grave, eddies of dust twisted and swirled in strange patterns, affected by more than just the whipping wind … hinting of the whispers of movement of ethereal beings, crowding forward in eager joy for the arrival of their most beloved leader.

His frame began to shiver violently as the temperature continued to drop, but he could not feel it for the helping hands that led the way, for the flickers of light behind his closed eyes.

And all around him, almost within reach, were the comforting whispers of ghosts.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was forced to order most of his glitched faction to stay behind; they were intent on going with him to rescue Prime from his stupidity. Some of them were even offended Prime felt suicide was appropriate rather than just taking his punishment for fleeing like a Decepticon.

It wasn’t like Megatron was going to _kill_ him, they agreed amongst themselves while watching Megatron and Starscream hurriedly prepping to leave. Sure this was his second escape attempt, sure the humiliation frag he was _definitely_ going get this time would be embarrassing, but… _come on._ All of his Decepticon brothers had wobbled from time to time and all had faced punishment here and there for similar transgressions.

You just dealt with it and life moved on.

The Armada was particularly incensed with the thought of losing him and several had to be ordered to back off multiple times. Some were apparently very enamored, and were hopeful once Megatron got tired of his captive they could start courting the Autobot for themselves. Megatron didn't bother to burst their bubble.

Megatron even tried to order Starscream to stay behind as he was worried for him, but Starscream wasn’t having any of it, and Megatron finally agreed if only to spare his audials the abuse. Prime wasn’t a threat to either of them, after all. Megatron had intentionally allowed Starscream to retain control over Prime, knowing his enslaved Autobot could never harm him and wanting to make sure Starscream was safe around him... another result of those soft edges. He remained unaware of the consequences of that decision.

Soundwave kept back, his fists clenching and unclenching. He watched fretfully, clearly alarmed as the two Decepticons grimly stuffed thermal packets and thermal blankets under their flared plating and cautiously opened chest plates to stave off the cold just long enough for the frantic rescue flight.

Starscream shot a look back at him from his position a few strides behind his all but charging leader. _It will be dealt with,_ his look promised. This was shaping up to be a disaster for them both.

Thundercracker had caught up to them as they were leaving the base and pressed a thermal blanket into Starscream’s servos. Prime was certainly going to need it for the flight back.

The Air Commander flashed him a quick dip of his wing and Megatron and Starscream had flown out towards the area described by Razorclaw (while dangling from a black fist, completely at a loss why his report had enraged his great leader instead of pleased him) at the highest rate of speed they could manage.

The weak light of day had faded, and both of them knew Prime would not survive the long night buried alone (and yet not) in the freezing ground next to his dead medic. The temperature was already dropping rapidly, and there was a killing chill in the wind that whipped and lashed their frames tonight.

 

***

_I should have ordered him back to our quarters._

Megatron mentally lashed himself over and over again for his short-sightedness as he flew through the dusky gloom of falling night. _I should have been more careful with him._ He gritted his denta as he ignored the wretched freeze, and tried to calm his raging pain and fury. He ached inside, for reasons he wouldn’t acknowledge. The source of his pain lay somewhere in the dark ground beneath him, quietly dying in a haze of depression and grief.

 _The attack triggered this,_ Megatron thought, aching with frustration. _Perhaps I should have forced him to come with me to see the punishment after all. Perhaps the sight of his assailant’s internal fluid on the floor would have soothed him. He would have been at my side during the attack._

 _I should have been more careful!_ That truth frustrated him the worst. He was responsible. He knew Prime wasn’t well. He knew how utterly depressed and grief-stricken his berth mate had been over the loss of his Autobots.

_I will not punish him for this. There will be no more punishment. I will simply have to be more sensible with him. He is not sensible in this state… the spark touch he kept refusing was the right thing to do after all._

Megatron knew no amount of his attempts to be comforting would help the depression that was ever present in his companion’s fields at the loss of his Autobots. He did not once think of any hand he may have played in that, still so certain he was right in all of his actions, still so confident that he could coax his companion to a better state eventually. But Prime didn’t seem willing to give him the time he needed to do that.

This weak Autobot sentimentality was frustrating to him.

 _I will have to tether him until he comes to his senses,_ Megatron decided, regretfully. He knew Prime was frightened of being bound, but these escape attempts are not acceptable and as usual the ends continue to justify the means.

 _There will be no further escape attempts,_ Megatron decided, feeling better for the decision and already deciding how best to inflict the punishment without making it seem as such. _He will hate a tether but it must be done for his own good and it will lead to better things eventually._

Beside him, Starscream seemed lost in dark thoughts as the dark ground sped by far below them ... and then shot a burning hole straight though his leader’s spark.

 

***

 

“We should leave him buried as he wishes, Leader,” said Starscream, right out of the blue. He had opened his private comm and his sharp vocalizer with its startling recommendation cut through the cold air lashing their frames.

Megatron snarled a negative in his internal comm and shot a furious glare at his Second through the freezing wind rushing between them.

But Starscream ignored his leader’s threatening tone. He had made a promise to Prime to end him if nothing could be done and for once he was going to try and keep his word.

Razorclaw had indicated the Prime had found his medic, and as feared the talented surgeon was gone, another victim of this unmerciful, inhospitable planet. Prime was alone now, the last of his faction. With only slavery to return to, it was understandable to him why the Autobot leader had chosen escape instead, the only way left open to him.

_This is what Prime wants and it really is for the best. Attachment is a weakness, and Megatron is obviously too attached to this situation to see clearly anymore. We are Decepticons after all._

Starscream strongly approved of Prime’s removal from their lives as the effect on their leader was never more readily apparent. Watching him mope in the throne room had been pathetic and the situation had been wearing down the sharp edges of his leader’s sigil and encouraging unacceptable weakness. It certainly helped Starscream’s decision to know that once Prime was dead, his own dangerous secret would be safer.

Starscream hated leaving lose ends.

“He is better off dead then a slave,” Starscream began his argument. “Did he not ask you for death?”

“He did, and I refused,” Megatron snapped. “Why do you suddenly care Starscream? Were you not goading me to take him and use him regardless when we first picked him up? If only because he was our enemy and for nothing more than petty revenge?”

Megatron snarled at him as another furious buffet of wind hit them, cruel in its lashing cold. “But you didn’t, did you,” Starscream retorted. “Instead you tended after him like a nurse-bot instead of just leaving him to his fate or killing him and that is why I am doing this. Clearly you have grown weak.”

A charging fusion cannon challenged that assessment, but Starscream didn’t flinch.

“I don’t care what happens to him, that’s true.” …and Starscream really didn’t care that much. His own plating would always be his top priority. “But you are my leader, and for that I will warn you. Some of your soldiers have noticed your weakness in this matter. Some are even saying that Prime has worn the edges off your sigil. It is just a matter of time before insurgency. You know the danger in attachment, in sentimentality. These are weaknesses, and we have no use for them. They only end in death.”

Megatron scowled at this. His cannon arm was held out and his hand clenched into a tight fist as Starscream continued to fearlessly defy him. He answered by coaxing a bit more speed out of his flight adapted engines.

Starscream could see that the normal arguments weren’t moving his leader and launched himself into unfamiliar territory. Megatron had been uncharacteristically sentimental lately. Starscream was uncomfortable to be so far out of his comfort zone, and struggled with such Autobot sentimentalities, but the core concepts held true.

And so Starscream prepared himself for the unusual verbal battle and went in for the next volley. “All the Prime has to look forward to is slavery, until the end of his life. When you are eventually defeated in battle, Leader, he will pass to the victor. For better or for worse he will always be a slave to someone, never to be freed. His friends and faction are dead. He has lost the war. He has failed in his duties to his Autobots as Prime. We are not his kind. There is nothing left for him here. ”

Megatron said nothing. His eyes glowed steadily, furiously, entirely unmoved.

“He is right to end his hopeless situation,” Starscream pushed on, “because there is no way we can free him from it. It is appropriate for him to end himself with dignity, as he wishes, instead of languishing in slavery. Digging Prime up now, just to put him out of his misery later would be no better than simply following his wishes and leaving him in the ground.”

Prime had found an answer to his difficult situation and had implemented it in a way that allowed him to retain a small measure of his dignity and self-respect, in the final embrace of someone who had truly loved him all his long life. It was pathetically weak, but at the same time, while looking as best he could through an Autobot’s lenses, Starscream could see the appeal.

But Megatron wasn’t having any of it. “He belongs to me, Starscream. He was our enemy and in his defeat I have been more than generous. He has a life with us now. I don’t care what my underlings think.”

Starscream flicked a reproving wing as it was obvious that the Slagmaker was not listening over the pulsing of his spark.

Megatron truly _was_ going soft.

“Would you wish to live the rest of your live as a slave with no hope of freedom? Even if life was fairly comfortable? That is a trick question,” Starscream warned, “because we both know the answer to that. You burned our home world to the ground to free yourself – to free all of your Decepticons- from slavery of a sort. If he is one of us, and hopelessly enslaved, then his wishes in this matter should be honored.”

“We cannot free him and it is,” and here Starscream actually choked over the word, but managed to force it out, “- _wrong_ to use him in this way, when he so clearly prefers death over a life of slavery.”

 _It’s different because he’s mine,_ was what Megatron wanted to say. _Mine, mine forever._ But he couldn’t, because in his spark he knew his clever, back-stabbing glitch was right, as he so often was.

Starscream silently regarded his pit-spawned glitch of a commander as he worked his intakes, his denta aching for how violently he was grinding them. Feeling the depth of the emotion in the air between them, Starscream sensed his terrible suspicions were finally vindicated.

Then Starscream launched into his final, most devastating shot. “So then it all comes down to this one question, oh mighty Megatron.” His voice was suddenly cheerful over the comm, but deceptively so. He was dead serious and his normal mocking lilt was completely absent in the chill air rushing between them.

Megatron's plating clamped down tighter to his frame as he waited for the point with a strange sense of dread.

“Do you love him?”

Appearances must be kept. Attachment is weakness. Sentimentality leads to death.

_He knows._

Megatron whipped his head up and stared at Starscream flying beside him as if he’d been gutted. Inside his spark chamber, the feeling he refused to name writhed within and the freezing air sliced across his plating.

“Then you should honor his wishes and let him go.” Starscream said nothing more, solemn as death itself.

There was a long, harsh moment as the intellectual part of Megatron, the part of him that had heard all of Starscream’s arguments and understood them for the absolute truth they were, went to war with the confused and yet deep and genuine love he held for Prime.

Perhaps it was not entirely unexpected which part of him won that dreadful battle. “He is **mine** , Starscream!” Megatron roared over his comms, “ **I won’t part with him!** ”

In the approaching distance, far beneath them and oblivious to the small war being waged on his behalf, the shivering finally went quiet. The air around the grave quieted as if startled by the arrival. And then there was an inaudible reverberation … a distant echo of boundless, endless joy.

Beneath the sand, two gray frames lay entwined, one free at last.

 

* * *

 

It took a bit of frantic searching, but they finally found the unmarked grave. Megatron dropped down to the disturbed silt below and started digging furiously, gesturing for Starscream to hurry and join him.

Razorclaw had told them how deep into the ground the Autobot had gone.

“Leader…”

Megatron gestured furiously at his Second over the lashing night winds. “No,” He snarled, “Never! Now help me dig him out, we are running out of time! That is an order, Starscream!”

But Starscream merely reached out a servo and set it on his Leader’s shoulder. He motioned at the read out on his internal scanner, and the glowing display in his wrist delivered the dreadful news.

Starscream took a respectful step back…

...as Megatron stumbled forward…

…and _keened._

And the chill wind blew on and on.

 

 

Finis


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream meets the mech who has been kicking him in the waste tanks all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Starscream's carrying phases closely follow the carrying described in the story [ "Long Nights" ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1179970/chapters/2406106) by Borath, which you should go read, because it is awesome. :D

 

The room was quiet except for the gasp of ventilations, the straining coming in waves of servo clenching pain. A soft hiss, as a labored in-vent was pulled between clenched denta.

The berth creaked as heavy frames adjusted and re-adjusted themselves, though there was no relief to be found. Pedes lashed out, bedecked with strong turbines, scraping and leaving long furrowing scratches in the old and dingy metal.

There was a noisy gasp, which rattled around the otherwise silent room, as the ex-vent was violently released, and the frame fell back.

Another long strain, and a back strut arched and left the berth in furious discomfort. Black servos, pitted from eons of strife and war, interlaced with smaller blue ones. It was a gesture of properly ignored but desperately needed support, and the straining continued.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me," said a deep voice, the complaint well-worn, and the deep voice muttering it keeping to a low rumble. It was still a source of contention. "Whatever your insidious plans, you should have been on triple rations vorns ago.”

“Frag you,” came an answering hiss, and the only one the other would give. He would never, never admit how terrified he had been for his own future.

Appearances must be kept.

Starscream huffed again, and then his back strut arched and his frame strained.

Megatron leaned in, his heavy engine rumbling in quiet anticipation.

 

***

 

Starscream had held on to his secret with both fearful servos for as long as he could. He'd never work out any sort of plan due to the dreadful world the Decepticons were stranded on. Winter had progressed, and the unspeakably dreadful nights became the norm. Not even a thermal blanket would be sufficient protection anymore, and no mech in their right processor would strike out on their own now.

The Unicronians lacked proper shelter and had finally been forced to leave the area, if only for their own survival. Galvatron had known he didn’t have the troops left to evict the Decepticons from their home to take it for themselves. Mere survival had Galvatron winging north to search for something, anything that would provide protection from the ever-deepening cold. He and his vastly diminished Sweep forces disappeared over the horizon, not to be seen again for the duration of that first long, dreadful winter.

Soundwave continued to be a source of quiet support. He even shared energon rations with Starscream, cutting his own down by half to provide for Starscream’s furiously demanding gestational systems. Soundwave kept his word, and never spoke of Starscream's plight, knowing that time would reveal the truth eventually. His unfailing generosity was enough to keep carrier and unborn going, until it wasn’t anymore.

Starscream was roughly mid-term when things came to a head, and his situation finally blew up in his face when he ended up passing out while in the midst of a screaming match with his pit-spawned glitch of a leader.

Megatron had wanted Starscream to move into his quarters, and Starscream had refused for obvious reasons (though only obvious to him and Soundwave). Megatron hadn’t understood, and it was a bad time to try and thwart him, as he had refocused his attention on his last remaining berth mate with a vengeance. He took Starscream's reluctance as a game; a test of his endurance, a new wrinkle in their timeless destructive waltz.

Fortunately, his aggressive interest peaked right as the Rut had hit (a normal carrying phase characterized by a persistent, consistently high charge and need for physical contact) and the warlord’s stamina had been tested to its limits. He had been bonding very strongly as his frame knew something his processor didn’t, picking up subconsciously through physical contact and the gestational pheromones.

Starscream had been mid-tirade when his optics had rolled back into his helm and he had landed face down at the foot of the throne, to Megatron’s complete alarm. The charge to the medical bay had sent mechs diving for cover to avoid their leader as he clutched the unconscious Starscream in his tightly clenched and frantic servos.

The reaction had been epic when Hook had announced the news. Everyone in audial range had been stunned into a long silence, and then several mechs nearby had cheered. Skywarp and Thundercracker had stood in complete disbelief in the med bay entrance.

“Well, that explains that,” said Skywarp, his wings stock-still for surprise. “Dibs on letting him know we found out when he wakes up.” Now his wings were starting to flare, and he was already getting excited. He would be expected to have an active role as a trine mate of the carrier. Thoughts of all the pranks, the sheer scale of the _shenanigans_ he could get up to with a side-kick at his pedes sent his wings flaring to their fullest span; spasms of indescribable glee.

Thundercracker was muttering next to Skywarp, his servos on his hips. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell us. Just... what a stupid fragging glitch. Of course we would have helped him out, if he had only asked."

Shaking his helm for the stupidity of it all, Thundercracker looked casually over at his trine mate. He was expecting confirmation of his unspoken expression of support for their inexplicable trine mate, but his optics narrowed when he saw the cant of Skywarp's wings, and the especially the gleam in his too-bright red optics.

Thundercracker shook his helm at his trine mate in warning. _Oh frag no._

Skywarp grinned back at him impishly. _Oh frag yes._

"He's too high-strung for his own good," called Hook belatedly from the background. Skywarp and Thundercracker reacted instantly, and made threatening gestures in his direction, because the Armada stuck together. As such, only _they_ could make such statements.

Then Soundwave had made the announcement over the internal comms. At first there was only stunned silence, with everyone staring at everyone else and making "did you hear that" gestures at each other. Then the deeper realization sank in - the death of their race wasn't so close after all - and noisy, happy roars throughout the ship.

“Hey guys! Guess that means we aren’t going extinct!” Swindle yelled out across the mess hall.

In the mess hall, Onslaught shifted in his crude chair, causing it to creak dangerously for his weight. “Yeah sure, that’s just great ... but now we get to deal with a carrying Starscream.” He was looking rather cross at the thought. He was sitting across from a dumbfounded Blast Off, who was just starting to look nervous.

“Oh frag,” Brawl muttered as he knocked back the last of his ration. “He’s going to be even crankier than normal.” The rest of the 'cons in the room nodded at each other, sharing worried looks. For a cranky Starscream was a hard-punching Starscream.

In the corner, Razorclaw scowled and nursed his energon cube. It was good news, but it did nothing for his foul mood. He was the last remaining Predacon among the living since Headstrong was deactivated in an unfortunate accident not long after Starscream’s rescue.

No one crossed Air Commander Starscream.

 

***

 

Hook double-checked and then triple-checked his diagnosis at Megatron’s insistence, and then insisted that his diagnosis was correct. He also confirmed the sire, though Megatron had no question over who it would have been. The frame lock was clear proof of that. Then Megatron stepped forward and laid a servo carefully on Starscream's abdominals, the delight clear on his face.

Hook had nodded thoughtfully at the internal readouts in his HUD, unplugged his cable from Starscream’s medical port, and then casually mentioned that Starscream was in the midst of terminal shutdown, due to chronic low fuel levels during his gestational cycle.

Megatron’s face palm had been epic, two handed even.

Hook was punched again, several times in fact, and then it was a fight to save both carrier and newspark. The entirety of their stored energon had been poured, cube after weak cube, down Starscream's unconscious intakes over the course of many, many days. Things would have been made very difficult for him, just as he had foreseen, except for the unmovable brick wall that was Soundwave.

Soundwave had found Megatron standing over Starscream's recharging frame that same evening, his black servo gently cupping the abdominals of his sleeping jet, his optics distant, pondering the future. Behind his eyes flowed visions of expansion, of recovery, and the outcome Starscream had been so dreadfully frightened of was already well plotted.

 _We can rebuild now,_ Megatron thought, and the surge of joy within him was intense. _We may be trapped on this wretched world for the rest of our lives, but the future still belongs to me._

But as Megatron stood there, resplendent in his power, his control, and his command while dreaming of the future (and not the consequences of what his endlessly ambitious dreams would mean to a certain red and white jet) a cool presence slowly intruded on his functioning. An unrelenting and resolute electromagnetic field slowly extended to brush firmly against Megatron's flared plating, and within its steady pulse emanated a deep sense of disapproval. The field slowly flowed over and interrupted Megatron's confident, contemplative field.

Soundwave was not pleased with Glorious Leader tonight. _Decepticon ideology is based on the freedom to fight for one’s destiny…_ was the whisper behind his disproving gaze.

Soundwave had worked out the reasoning behind the deep anxiety that plagued the waking thoughts of his fellow commander, and as long as he continued to ventilate, Starscream’s fate would not be left to Lord Megatron to decide. Soundwave had not spent the majority of his long life fighting for freedom just to abandon his ideals, especially when they were needed the most.

 _Freedom is what I have spent my life fighting to achieve. Decepticon code: infrangible. The defense of which is worth my life ..._ and so Soundwave entered the medbay. He was joined by his small army of loyal cassettes, all of them prepared to defend their beloved Decepticon ideology with every fiber of their beings. And he was not alone in that sentiment ... behind him, having been summoned by Soundwave to a terrifying but entirely needed confrontation, was the entirety of the seeker armada.

Skywarp and Thundercracker were quietly standing in the medbay doorway. Their fists were clenched and wings canted back. They were afraid, and yet their expressions were seeped in determination. Further behind them, their wings extended and ready, the rest of the surviving Armada stood waiting. Everyone was waiting for a confrontation that absolutely no one wanted, but if provoked, would be followed through to the last mech.

Soundwave stepped forward and stood next to the stunned Megatron. It was a charged moment, and the old friends exchanged stares, neither willing to back down. Then Soundwave reached down to added his own blue servo next to Megatron's black one, his careful fingers cupping sleek red and white plating.

Soundwave remained stoic, his fields quiet and resolute. _The future belongs to us all, including Starscream. Not only to you._ In the tense moments that followed, not a word was spoken.

No words needed to be said.

Soundwave and the Armada stood resolute before the iron fist of Megatron, the Slagmaker, and Glorious Leader of the Decepticons. The moment seemed to hang forever, the potent pause before horrific bloodshed. Then, after a long moment, Megatron knelt down and touched his forehelm to the sleeping Starscream’s prone helm. It was a surprisingly gentle touch, a clear gesture of support, and then Megatron strode away without a word, his heavy pede steps echoing as he walked stately away.

_The future is…ours. I yield._

***

 

Two weeks later Starscream slowly awoke in Megatron’s berth.

He could feel Megatron's heavy frame wrapped around him, a powerful war engine vibrating pleasantly along his back plates. There was a joyful fluttering and lots of persistent (pretty rude, really) solid little kicks to his waste tanks, that helped accelerate his journey to wakefulness. He blinked when he realized that heavy arms were wrapped around him ... his abdominals firmly cupped by black servos.

All those soft edges Starscream kept encountering had been refocused in his direction, and they coalesced into a soft kiss on Starscream’s newly awoken cheek plating.

Starscream processed that gentle gesture. His lips thinned. His mouth quirked. And then Starscream tilted his helm back to ask _why the frag_ he was in Megatron’s quarters when he had been _perfectly clear_ exactly where Glorious Leader could _stick his demands_ regarding where he would be sleeping at night ... which was followed by a brisk, and very one-sided fistfight.

Fussy little jet!

 

***

 

For the first time in his life, Megatron felt forlorn.

He missed his Prime, and time and distance and his own penchant for long evenings spent thinking had slowly, so very slowly, laid the dreadful truth down at his pedes. It had been a long and painful process, those cold, empty nights working though his every misstep and mistake. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but his beloved enemy was gone, and he paid for his mistakes every day with an ache that never truly healed.

It was Prime’s unintended gift to his captor. For the agony that had shot through his spark at the dreadful loss, and the thrumming pain that never fully faded, Megatron discovered and walked the line with his last remaining lover.

Though it made all the difference in the universe that Starscream wouldn’t have taken any slag anyway. That he was free in mind and spark to assert and furiously defend his boundaries with the otherwise unspeakably aggressive Megatron.

The laying of said boundaries begun instantly, as Starscream had punched Megatron in the face plates at the touch of the soft kiss that night and stormed out of his quarters. For the first time in their long lives, Megatron took that deserved hit and let his capricious seeker go without a word.

The two lovers had exactly one discussion regarding the future of their race. “I get five full mega-cycles between terms. Each and every time. Maybe more than that if I want,” Starscream warned with a furious hiss. “Or I kill you. Slowly, terribly, with lots of pain and humiliation.”

Threats were always in good taste between Decepticons, after all.

“I will utterly, utterly destroy you and you know I will enjoy it. I will mount your stupid head over your own damned throne and have your spike stuffed for a frag toy and I will use your stupid helm as … as … give me a minute. Whatever. I will do something _completely disrespectful to it.”_

Soundwave’s not-a-conversation wandered through Megatron’s processor during the furious warning rant, and he had agreed to Starscream’s terms without a single complaint, shutting his vocalizer about it. He knew he was lucky to get this concession out of Starscream. It _was_ needed, as both commanders knew the importance of more bodies to help defend. They hadn’t seen even a single glimpse of a Sweep for some time, but they were both completely certain of one thing.

It was only a matter of time.

***

 

“Why did I let you in here?” Starscream hissed for the thousandth time.

“Because this is our quarters," answered Megatron patiently, also for the thousandth time. "And my newspark.”

“My newspark,” Starscream corrected nastily. He cycled his optics closed and rode out another wave of grinding pain.

“Our newspark,” Megatron calmly conceded, and there had been a lot of that lately. It took many, many brutal punches from furious blue servos over the remaining course of the term, but Megatron had finally learned how to _back the frag off._

Megatron's hand slipped down between them, beneath the straining Starscream, who was grudgingly reclined in his lap. He firmly rubbed the straining back strut with electrified servos ... the best back-rub on offer on this miserable planet ... and there had been a lot of that, too.

“Whatever.”

Then Starscream groaned, the first real sound of pain to escape his otherwise clenched denta. His optics widened, and Starscream ground down furiously. Shapely heels, bedecked in strong flight turbines frantically braced against the berth wall and there was another furious strain. He pushed harshly against the silver plating at his back, his straining and straining marked by soft gasps.

The warbuild supporting him from behind braced his own heavy pedes and didn’t move at all, the solid silver metal of the other an unmovable force of quiet support.

“Is this it?"

An explosion of the most abhorrently vile threats against Megatron's stupid spike and his even stupider life answer him in the affirmative, culminating into a decibel-exploding shriek of extreme pain. There was a sudden shock of movement, and fluid and the pain ebbed, except for the slow cycling down of his exhausted systems.

Starscream fell back and rolled over, done with the business for now. Too tired to process, he laid back and let his pit-spawned glitch of a leader deal with the aftermath.

There were sounds of splashing fluid, and Megatron made that noise he so often did when thoughtfully interested in something. Further noises, soft sounds of squirming, wiggling metal being carefully cleaned and scrubbed and inspected drifted over to Starscream’s audials. Anticipation was starting to build, and it eclipsed the exhaustion in Starscream's frame until finally, as tired and sore as he was, he rolled back over.

“Well?” Starscream demanded.

“He has my colors,” Megatron said, sounding most satisfied. He turned the little one over, and the resemblance was unmistakable; a seeker’s frame with red and silver colors.

A perfectly tiny little jet-former.

The newborn had a seeker’s delicate frame, but the purr of a strong little engine. His thicker than normal turbines promised an amalgamating of the sleek lines of the carrier with the great power of the sire.

Then very small and very bright optics cycle open for the first time.

Megatron held the clean, tiny frame merely a hands-breadth away from his own face plates. He was extremely pleased with the way the sharp little optics focused and moved over his face, tracking the minute movements of his glowing optics as they narrowed in satisfaction and joy at the sight of the delightful little being.

A long moment passed between sire and newspark, as the carrier kept a watchful optic.

Then the tiny, perfectly formed mouth plates opened and the new life offered forth a delighted squeak, a noisy blast of binary gibberish, uniquely Cybertronian. Tiny wings flared as miniature servos flailed happily. Then a bitty pede, complete with not-yet-functional turbine, reflexively kicked out and smacked the brutal tyrant right in the nasal ridge.

“Oh, he’s definitely mine,” Starscream laughed and fell back, exhausted and utterly happy.

Megatron ducked the next kick, and smiled.


End file.
